


The Job

by SynCerise



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout, Original Work
Genre: (i don't... know what that kink is called), (you have to say that excitedly with arms up), Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bathtub Sex, Bladder Control, Bladder Inflation, Body Modification Kink, Bottom In Wall Kink, Breast Expansion, Clit Bondage, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Gentle Domme, Gratuitous Dressing Up Scenes, Historical Role-Play, Historical Western Gender Role Kink, Inflation Kink, Latex, MD/LG, Nipple Penetration, Praise Kink, Public use kink, Sex Work, Sounding, Sugar Mama Domme, Training, Unapologetic Misandry, Vaginal Plug, Womb Inflation, belly inflation, bimbofication, botox, come for smut stay for plot, consensual extreme kink, corruption and conditioning, dressing up, faux genital torture (sensory play), funishment, genital expansion kink, genital inflation, honestly i don't know what half these kinks are properly called i'm just guessing, horse cock dildo!, injection kink, murder mysteries, nurturing dom/little sub, ona-hole gag, pussy expansion, suckling kink, suction kink, transformation kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15932093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynCerise/pseuds/SynCerise
Summary: Honey tries a new job for a night, and has no idea what she's in store for....Nota Bene: If you want to skip to the murder mystery, it starts at chapter 9.





	1. Prep

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by (but not based on) this set of pictures: [1](https://img-7.poringa.net/poringa/img/9/7/0/F/7/6/CulitoBurbuja/A0A.png) [2](https://img-7.poringa.net/poringa/img/D/7/0/0/6/8/CulitoBurbuja/8B5.png), which are the only examples I have of this... job? I guess?

‘First, we have to attach your nipples to the machine, this lubricant will facilitate a suction.’ 

Honey was led forward, and the nurse lifted one of her soft and sleepy tits and pointed the soft nipple toward the first tube. ‘Oh,’ said the nurse when the soft skin was sucked rather farther than normal into the tube. ‘Perfect, you’ll have _very_ prominent areolae,’ she said as she put the other nipple in the second tube. It pinched, but Honey knew it would. 

The nurse pulled down a device from the ceiling. ‘Put your chin here, that’s good, and open your mouth, stick out your tongue… we’re going to put this over your tongue and inside your mouth, it’s a special kind of bite-gag that allows for a relaxed jaw position.’ 

Honey felt the texture inside the tube with her tongue as it slid forward, and she opened her mouth, pushing her tongue deeper into the centre as the gag slid gently into her mouth, filling up the entire space inside her teeth, just the right shape that she was constantly swallowing reflexively, like she was drinking. 

‘Good, good, it’s engaged your drinking reflex, that means it fits perfectly. Nothing pinching?’ 

‘Nn-nn.’ 

‘Good, now your lips need plumping, I’m just going to put a bit of botox in them to enhance that cupid’s bow...’ 

The needle went into her lower lip just as two slid into her milk ducts, and she found that while she’d been distracted, the machine had been fitted over her legs and hips, so she had no choice but to stand there while the nurse injected her lower lip and she felt it swell, and swell, while the machine injected her breasts and she felt them swell even more, tighter, and tighter, and with every feeling of tautness, she felt herself get wetter and wetter, the machine holding her legs spreading them as her breasts grew bigger, rounder, areolae still suctioned into the tube, centred by the needles in her nipples that were pumping ever more into her. She wished she could press her thighs together, but her legs were being held too far apart. The nurse was still injecting her lip, removed the needle from the bottom one, which now felt heavy and throbbed. 

‘There,’ the nurse said, and slid a needle into the centre of her top lip. ‘Now this one...’ 

She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t, gagged and helpless. She hadn’t signed up for botox. 

‘Beautiful,’ the nurse said, and turned a mirror, letting Honey see what had become of her lips. The lower one was huge, unnaturally beestung-pouty, and the top one was half the size, still huge. But… they looked pretty, they did, and Honey found herself surprised at how much she liked it. She’d always heard botox never turned out well. 

‘And you’ll be numb enough that we can just fuck that little mouth for hours,’ the nurse said, and moved around behind Honey. ‘Now, some botox in this nice pussy, have to make you nice and plump and long-lasting for the boys.’ 

The machine was still pumping away at her tits, and her head was still trapped by the device holding it steady, so Honey could only anticipate the needle, where it would go first. 

As it happened, what the nurse did first was lube up her anus and slide a warm rod into it, about the girth of a finger, which went in, and in, until the rim of something firm fit against her spread cheeks, and started the suction. 

‘Just fluffing up that little rose of yours, making it nice and tender and sweet. We’ll stretch it out when your transformation is done. Now, I’m going to put some of this in your clit, to make it bigger. It’s an infusion drip, so it will go to your _whole_ clit, not just the surface. Here we go, deep breath, and...’ 

The needle slid into her clit, which was quite huge already from clitoromegaly, and Honey couldn’t help how it twitched as soon as the needle went in; oddly, the needle seemed to flex with the movement, not causing pain but still feeling horribly invasive. Her clit swelled, pushing against her vaginal walls, against itself, against her bladder and urethra, throbbing with her pulse. So many things were throbbing with her pulse, now, buzzing with arousal and increasingly desperate need to be stimulated, to be touched by more than air. 

‘Oh, you’re plumping up _perfectly_ , good _girl_ , your body was _made_ for this, wasn’t it? I’m going to just plump up your labia minora now...’ 

She felt the needle go in, and whimpered through the gag. The nurse clucked sympathetically. 

‘Oh, I know,’ she cooed. ‘It’s so much, but you can do it. Your breasts are about five pounds each, now, and I’m going to just inject your gorgeous ruffles. They’ll get nice and shiny and fat and tight, and the boys will love that, fucking your tight little pussy. And the botox will take down your sensitivity so you’ll last the whole night.’ 

Her pussy felt like it was going to burst, she’d never been so close to coming without doing it, before, for so long. She didn’t even feel the needle going into her other labia this time, so overwhelmed with sensation down in her pussy, from the swelling of her labia, to the suction on her anus, to the swelling in her poor, overwhelmed clit. 

‘Now, after I’m all done down here, you won’t be able to pee,’ said the nurse, cheerfully. ‘You get a catheter in the morning, after your shift.’ 

Honey whimpered at the thought of all those hours her bladder would be filling. 

‘Just doing the labia majora now—you don’t even feel that, do you, sweetie? You’re fluffing up so _perfectly_ , you’ve got so _much_ to work with!’ 

Honey felt even more arousal, at that, a glow of pride and pleasure suffusing her down to her toes. She’d never been told those sorts of things, before. 

‘Your pretty clit is done—oh, she’s straining so hard against that hood, let’s fix that.’ 

Honey screamed through her gag as she felt the nurse rubbing her swollen clit, and then shushing her soothingly. 

‘Ohh, I know, sweetie, I know it’s intense, but I need to get this hood up over your clit, baby girl, we need to stretch it out so you’re more comfortable...’ 

She felt a tugging, and a squeezing around her clit, and a weight clamped to her, trapping her clit in a constricting tube. 

‘There,’ said the nurse. ‘It’ll feel a little tight for about half an hour, but it’ll ease up by the end. While you’re waiting, let’s stretch you out, so the boys don’t have to. Your tits are swelling up so tight, baby girl, you’re doing so well!’ 

The nurse took whatever was suctioning and invading her anus off—it made an embarrassing sucking noise—and Honey felt the nurse rubbing all around her anus, which was swollen and sensitive and every touch was warm and overwhelming with pleasure. Honey didn’t do anal often, so the urge she had to be penetrated by those fingers, just now, was surprising. 

‘You’re so shiny and swollen, there’s no wrinkles at all, it just looks like a second pussy! I’m just going to lube you up, sweetie,’ she said, as she rubbed lubricant on Honey’s anus, enjoying her moan. ‘And then we’re going to put in the widener...’ She slid a speculum into the swollen opening slowly, until it was all the way in, and she had carefully shifted it to seat in both rectal entrances, then started to click it open. 

* * *

## To be continued...


	2. A Good Night's Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet u thought I'd abandoned this huh? SIKE. ~11-20-18
> 
> Note: the asterisks are a marker for one of my readers who needs to skip certain personal squicks. This reader is a lover of mine, and I will not be doing this for anyone else.

Her pussy was shiny with how swollen it was, and both entrances showed even when she stood up. Her tits were so full there was the slight press, the ghostly shadow, of blue veins on the skin. Her areolae were puffy and her nipples were fitted with golden plugs, chained together, before she was sent to the tanning booth.

After that, she dressed in a micro mini skirt that was neon turquoise, full-fashion nylons with a hot pink garter belt beneath, a pair of hot pink heels that were eight inches high, and a corset that was leopard print with hot pink trim that helped hold up her eight-pound tits, though it only held them _up_ , it didn’t _cover_ them.

Honey did her own makeup: pink lips, white eyeshadow, lots of fake lashes, perfectly curled, and the stylist did her bleached hair as big as God and gave her long acrylic nails in hot pink with white tips. She felt _trashy_ , she felt _pretty_ , and after her ass was loaded up with enough lube to choke a horse, plugged up with a golden plug that had a chain attached to a chain around her waist, she went out.

The club was downstairs from the prep rooms, and even though she was nervous, the reaction was immediately positive. Boys called her gorgeous and sexy, and squeezed her tits, and gave her their tokens to pay for the privilege of fucking her swollen, tight pussy and ass. The boys bought her a lot of drinks, though the bartender never handed her one with alcohol, so she could keep working the floor, working the club, getting the high she wanted more than alcohol. Each boy that fucked her said how tight she was, and each cock that went in her gave her an orgasm that was intense and perfect. She didn’t have to say a word, the gag still in her mouth, and she enjoyed the freedom of not having to think of something to say.

When the boys had all done with her, and her pussy was dripping cum, leaking down her thighs, she finally found herself presented to the Mistress of the club, the owner of the whole facility. The Mistress didn’t want to fuck her, the Mistress wanted to grant her the honour of the Machine.

She paid her tokens for that, and Honey appreciated that the Mistress was fair-minded.

‘I’m going to fill that belly of yours, so you won’t need this anymore,’ the Mistress said, cutting the corset’s lacings and handing the corset to a waiting boy, who took it away. The Mistress stroked the softness of Honey’s belly, a pleased smile in her eyes. ‘Good, you’re made for what I’m about to put you through.’

Honey felt a pleased shiver, and a gush of arousal, at that. She was shown to a back room, where there was a pair of leg-irons. A boy locked her ankles into the fur-lined cuffs, and then her knees, and then her thighs.

‘Bend over, slut, dear,’ the Mistress said gently, and Honey obeyed, feeling a little nervous at being trapped, but thrilling with arousal too, anticipating what would happen next. The Mistress fastened a collar to her neck, the chain hanging from the ceiling and holding her at a right angle. The plug was removed from Honey’s ass, and she felt something warm and metal sliding inside, stretching her holes to their limit. The one in her ass went deeper than any cock could.

‘Now,’ said the Mistress, and pulled a lever on the floor. Immediately, the thing in her pussy started to expand, until her entire passage was stretched almost to bursting. The one in her ass, however, started to pump, in and out of her, pushing the one in her pussy against her clit, over and over, until she was coming,* and the machine started to pump spurt after spurt of something hot inside her belly, filling her up, until it was simply flowing into her, and her belly started to bulge. She couldn’t move away, she was trapped, helpless, as her belly stretched tight and tighter. She couldn’t even do more than give muffled screams. The Mistress chuckled.

‘Gooood girl.’ Watching her belly expand, until she looked pregnant, while the Mistress’ Machine filled up her use-swollen body, watching the machine spread and stretch her until she was tight again around it, the ring of her ass looking like the swollen lips of a pussy, slick and shiny from the lube as the machine pumped more and more liquid into her, gave the Mistress all the pleasure she needed. Honey’s tits were swinging slightly with every thrust, straining against their chain, but the chain held them together. Eventually, when her belly started to look red and shiny from the tension, the Mistress allowed the machine one last pump and turned it off, leaving the head inside Honey’s ass to make sure nothing came out, and leaving the now ball-shaped plug inside her pussy.

*‘Boy,’ she said, ‘suck her clit until I tell you to stop.’

One of the boys immediately obeyed, and Honey screamed, delightedly overwhelmed as one of the hard, tense, pulsing orgasms made her body contract painfully around the plugs inside her. The Mistress watched all this with a satisfied smile.

‘Stop, boy,’ she said, and the boy stopped. The Mistress had him unlatch the restraints around Honey’s legs, and the Mistress herself undid the collar. ‘Stand up, Honey.’

Honey struggled; the weight of her tits had been hard enough, but now there was no corset, and her belly… two boys helped pull her up when it became clear she couldn’t, and she moaned at the weight bearing down on the two plugs. The Mistress had a third boy hold up a straw to Honey’s gag.

‘Good, you need some water, don’t you?’

Honey couldn’t resist once the straw was inserted—the gag was making her swallow and she couldn’t control it, and she felt water go down her throat, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t thirsty, but the sheer fact that she didn’t get to decide when she was full, that was the thrilling thing. She felt her body drink, and looked up at the Mistress, both of them knowing she was helpless, both of them enjoying it.

‘You’ve made a lot of money tonight, Honey. You are to be congratulated,’ the Mistress said, genuinely warm in her sentiment, despite her even tone. ‘One of our most successful first bouts into this. I _do_ hope you become a regular contracted worker here.’

Honey had no intention of doing anything else, this was the most lucrative, most fun job she’d ever had.

‘Is your stomach feeling nice and full, yet?’ The Mistress leaned forward, smiling wickedly. ‘Is your _bladder_?’

Honey whined. She’d forgotten about her bladder, but the Mistress asking after it now made her realise she’d had a _lot_ of drinks….

‘Mhm, well,’ the Mistress chuckled. ‘You’ll feel nice and _desperate_ in about fifteen minutes. Won’t that be nice?’

Honey whined again, imagining it. How could she keep coming so much? She didn’t want it to stop, though, she didn’t want to get to a point where she didn’t want more orgasms.

‘Stop, boy,’ the Mistress said, and the boy removed the straw. Honey’s stomach had gotten firmer and rounder on top, where her stomach was. Mistress patted it gently, but even that made Honey moan and sob. ‘Good girl. I’m done with you, go back to the floor now.’

Honey didn’t know how she was supposed to move, let alone walk; but she picked up one foot and moved it forward, and then the other, and managed, having to hold her belly up, the plugs stretching her open making her walk more of a waddle, her tits  shifting side to side, the chain holding them together pulling at her nipples with the movement.

This time, the boys fucked the gag in her mouth, and she spent the rest of the night swallowing more and more, feeling full and desperate to stop—just as desperate to push herself to go on, despite it. The boys stroked her overfilled belly and called her pretty, and fucked her mouth so she wouldn’t have to move, and eventually, the shift was over and Honey was hobbling, her belly red and heavy, her swollen clit unreachable and throbbing for attention, her bladder so full and so pressed on she felt she was going to explode.

When she managed to get back upstairs, the nurse from before smiled and had her lay on her tired back, and put her heeled feet up in stirrups. As she slid a catheter up Honey’s urethra, she pulled Honey’s swollen clit, stroking it as she drained Honey’s bladder; stroking it as she drained Honey’s ass; stroking it as she deflated the plug in Honey’s cunt and pulled it out, then she rinsed Honey out with cool water.

‘Look at you, you’re all used up and gaping!’

Honey felt her push something else inside her ass, something softer and only a little smaller. The same kind of thing was pushed into Honey’s pussy. ‘This is to keep you from prolapsing,’ she said, and then Honey felt the catheter slide out. ‘You won’t be able to go again until the swelling goes down—I hope you like feeling desperate.’

Honey nodded, the gag still making her answers simple. The nurse squeezed her tits gently, and detached the chain, but left the plugs.

‘The Mistress has decided to lend you a towncar, and booked you in a hotel, on the condition you come back tomorrow as a latex slut. You’ll be put into a full-body suit with condoms in the ass and pussy and mouth, and you’ll be blindfolded and deafened and put into a wall. How’s that sound?’

Honey nodded eagerly, and the nurse laughed, patting her tit.

‘Atta girl. I’ll just cash in your tokens and we’ll get your cheque for tonight. Oh, almost forgot…’ The nurse carefully worked the gag out of Honey’s mouth, and massaged her jaw gently in case there was any stiffness. ‘How are you feeling, Honey?’

‘That was _amazing_ ,’ Honey said immediately, grinning. ‘The boys were so pretty—and the Mistress was so pretty—and—’

‘And _you_ were so pretty,’ the nurse added, handing over her cheque. Honey’s eyes widened when she saw it. She’d never seen so much money in her life.

‘Oh my gosh,’ she said, and—to her embarrassment—her eyes burned and she started to feel a lump in her throat. ‘Oh my gosh,’ she said again, in a more watery voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, even as the nurse handed her a tissue. ‘I just—I earned this in _one night_? And I had _so much fun_?’ She cried for a little bit, and the nurse helped remove her makeup and eyelashes so it wouldn’t sting so much. The cold cream helped soothe the flush from crying too.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ the nurse said. ‘You’re a good, _willing_ , _hard-working_ girl, and you earned every penny of that.’

Honey nodded, and stared at the cheque as she got back into her street clothes, as she got into the town car and found a boy waiting to massage her feet and legs, as she got to the hotel and the driver opened the door for her, and handed her the handle of a beautiful rolling suitcase that she hadn’t packed. She tucked the cheque into her wallet, and tucked her wallet back into her big baggy military jacket, and looked up at the shiny, ritzy hotel, and walked in. Her hair was still fluffy, and her nails were still on, and Honey realised she might look like a trashy starlet, and the thought pleased her.

She went inside, and everyone was very polite, and she gave her name to the desk and got her room key, and it felt surreal to be doing something so fancy and in public after the night she’d just had, and feeling the squishy fullness of the plugs still inside her. When she got up to the suite, it was huge and the bed was soft, and she left her clothes and shoes on the floor, asleep before her head hit the pillow.


	3. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops now there's nasty things like PLOT and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT oh no.

Honey woke up a little before noon, and opened the suitcase to find it was full of very fancy, very feminine clothes. There were full-fashion nylons with a backseam, like the ones she’d worn last night, in black and flesh tone; there were beautiful sets of underwear, slips for wearing under dresses and skirts, all silky nylon in her favourite hot pink; there was a corset meant for wearing as underwear, big enough and perfectly shaped to hold up her new, huge breasts; and there were comfortable three-inch heeled loafers. There was only one set of clothes—a high-waisted, knee-length pencil skirt in hot pink, a long-sleeved blouse of something silky in a lighter peachy pink, and a smart little jacket that matched the skirt.

There was also a note, in beautiful handwriting:

> _You will only need these clothes from now on. Please follow the instructions. You may send for your possessions via the front desk, and order as much room service as pleases you. Do not drink alcohol, do not have any orgasms. These latter belong to me now. If you wish to leave, you may do so at any time—this employment is at_ _your will_ , a _nd no one else’s._
> 
> _It is my hope, however, that you choose remain with me, as I have been very impressed with your performance and conduct so far. If you choose to come in tonight, please arrive at seven-thirty, as you did yesterday. Looking forward to seeing you, I am_
> 
> _Your Mistress_

Honey felt tingly at the words, and couldn’t stop smiling. Your Mistress. _Your_ Mistress. _She had a Mistress now_. She set the letter lovingly aside, and found the toiletries bag, which had fancy shampoo with toner brighten her bleached hair, a leave-in conditioner to moisturise her hair, a comb, some clips and hair ties, a toothbrush and wintergreen toothpaste, fancy body soap, skin crème, _very_ fancy perfume, and a full set of makeup and instructions for how she was to wear it.

Honey took a shower, washing all the hairspray from her hair, and sat at the bathroom vanity to do her makeup, setting everything out. She’d already gotten her brows done the day before, and the makeup instructions gave her a much subtler face, with pink lips that matched her outfit—and her nails. Honey spent a lot of time just playing with her new lips, fascinated by the plushness of them, the bigness. Her makeup seemed to be designed to emphasise them, because her eyes were very subtle, without eyeliner, without lashes, shaded very naturally—her lips, however, were hot pink, and over that she was instructed to put a glitter gloss.

The instructions also told her to put her hair in a high bun, and she managed that too, before going to get dressed, feeling the shift of the soft plugs inside her every little motion she made. She was dripping wet, and still very swollen, not to mention plumped from all the botox.

She sat on the bed and spread her thighs, just looking at her self in fascination for a while, at her swollen pussy lips and at the clear plug holding her open, her pussy twitching around it. She couldn’t see her ass, but she felt it, the rim swollen and still smooth from the injections, and the plug feeling even bigger than the one in her pussy. And then there was her clit, fat and curled-down and looking like some kind of berry ripe for picking. She touched it, and almost came, and realised she’d have to be very careful. She went into the bathroom again and took down the shower-head, turning on the water to cool and spraying between her thighs until her entire cunt and ass were sufficiently calmed down.

Drying off, she tried again to get dressed, and managed it this time. She used the skin crème before she put on the hosiery gloves and very carefully got the nylons on, then the garter belt, then a pair of the nylon panties over that, and she paused, biting her lip and trying to breathe deep, slow breaths—it was so hard not to come, her clit was so sensitive and she was so full—no, no, she might get in trouble. She could do this. A minute later, she called the front desk.

‘Um, hi, I was wondering if I could have an ice pack sent up?’

_‘Yes Miss Honey, of course.’_

‘Thank you.’ She hung up, put on the half-slip, pulled up the skirt but didn’t fasten it yet, and struggled into the corset, though it was the very fancy kind that could be laced by the wearer. Honey wondered where the Mistress—no, where _Mistress—_ had gotten it. It was hot pink, like everything else (well, almost everything—there were no hot pink stockings). After adjusting her tits inside it, settling them into the cups, she put the upper slip over it, so it wouldn’t bunch up her blouse, put on the blouse, and fastened the skirt, which was very tight but not too tight.

She was just finishing this when there was a knock on the door.

‘Room service.’

‘Oh, uh, coming!’ she said, and realised her usual stride wasn’t going to work, in this skirt. She slipped on her heels—heels helped her take tinier steps—and minced to the door, realising very quickly that the skirt was going to make it _very_ difficult to obey Mistress about not coming. She managed to get to the door, where a very pretty boy was holding out a silver tray with three large ice packs on it—the good kind, with soft covers.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and he smiled, and gave a little bow, and she shut the door, bracing herself before mincing back to the bed, setting the tray down, unfastening her skirt and shoving it down her legs, shoving the ice pack between her thighs and against her pussy. ‘Stop,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘Stop it.’

She stood there for a while, until the ice pack warmed, and then she took it out and put the next one in her panties, adjusting it before pulling up her skirt again. She had to catch her breath, breathing was very different in a corset, and bending at the waist was hard.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘breakfast.’

Much slower, she took one step at a time, going as slow as she needed, over to the room-service menu on the desk. There was also a mini-fridge, but it only had tiny bottles of alcohol in it.

She ordered breakfast and practised walking while she waited for it to come, practised moving in a corset, and by the time breakfast had arrived, she was on the third ice pack and was feeling rather confident in her ability to walk and do little things like put clothes away and tidy up. She’d put all the extra underwear and things away in the top drawer of the room’s dresser, and had arranged all the toiletries to her satisfaction in the bathroom. She answered the door to the room-service, which was the same boy, who smiled the same gorgeous smile at her.

‘Hello again,’ he said, and wheeled in the tray, setting it in front of the window and even moving the desk chair up to the covered plate, taking the cover off with a flourish. ‘Ta da!’

Honey giggled. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Honey,’ he said, bowing, and left, closing the door quietly behind him. She appreciated that, and sat down to eat. It occurred to her that she’d have to deposit the cheque, and she felt a bit of fear at going out in public with tits this big, dressed like this. But then, she thought, Mistress had said she had use of the towncar. There were two boys in the towncar, the one that had rubbed her feet would surely accompany her wherever she went, if she asked? That must be why he’d been sent. He was a big boy, very big and with the sort of muscles that looked functional.

She finished eating and was glad she’d managed to not get anything on her blouse—eating with tits this big, it was hard not to; but she managed, and was proud of herself for only getting a few crumbs, nothing that couldn’t easy be brushed off. She washed her hands, put on the matching jacket, got her wallet and tucked the lipstick and gloss into her jacket pocket for touch-ups, before going downstairs. Seeing her reflection in the shiny interior of the elevator doors, she smiled and posed and admired herself. She looked less trashy today, but there was something about a grown woman with large tits that people always found a _little_ trashy, especially if she was very feminine and wearing hot pink. But Honey felt a little classy too, with a finely-tailored suit and her old-fashioned stockings, and she held her head high as she walked with little steps across the lobby, going up to the desk.

‘Hello, I need to go out and run a few errands,’ she began, a little embarrassed and unsure.

‘Of course, miss,’ said the desk clerk, who was a friendly girl about Honey’s age. She hit a few keys on her tablet. ‘It should only be a few minutes, is there anything you need up in your room, while you’re out?’

Honey gave the matter some thought. ‘If you could put some fresh fruit in the fridge instead of alcohol, please. I’m sober.’

‘Oh! Of course, Miss Honey. We will do that straightaway!’

‘Thank you,’ Honey said, glad the clerk hadn’t apologised, and trying not to apologise, herself. She went over to sit on one of the large ottomans littering the lobby, and in only a few moments, she saw the boy from the car coming toward her. She’d been too tired and distracted to remember what he was wearing, and it had been a little too dark in the car to see what he looked like other than an impression of bigness and gentleness. Now, in the full light of the lobby and the afternoon sun shining through all the windows, she saw him. He was, indeed, very big. He had brown skin full of wonderful black tattoos, even on his face, and warm dark eyes, and his black hair was slicked back into a ponytail full of spiralling curls. His smile was as big as he was, and he had a very low voice.

‘Miss Honey, the car is here.’ And he offered his hand. Honey had never thought of herself as small, but when she put her hand in his, and pulled herself up, she felt very small. Small and delicate, two words she’d never felt before.

‘What are you called?’ she asked.

‘Hemi,’ he said.

‘Hemi,’ Honey said, resisting the urge to tease him about how fitting the name was. ‘I need to go to the bank and deposit my cheque, and I need to get a few things from my Aunt’s house. And,’ she said, thinking of how she lacked a few things hotels just didn’t have. ‘I think I need to pick up a few things at the mall. Will you stay with me while I’m shopping?’

‘Of course, Miss Honey.’

‘Thank you.’

Hemi opened the car door for her, and they went. People did stare, but Hemi stayed with her, and so people _only_ stared. While they were in Honey’s favoured department store, someone said something rude about her to his companion and Honey flinched, starting to curl in on herself; Hemi touched her under her chin gently.

‘Don’t,’ he said softly. ‘You look this way because you chose to, and because you want to, and nobody else is allowed to decide what you are.’

Honey sniffled, but she straightened herself up. ‘Yes,’ she said, determined. ‘Yes, you’re right, Hemi. Thank you. It… it still hurts.’

‘I know,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘That’s okay too.’ He grinned mischievously, and said in a quieter voice, bending down to be closer to her ear. ‘ _He_ doesn’t have a chance of affording you, anyway, and he’s just mad about it.’

Honey was startled into a giggle, blushing; she’d not had a chance to really think about that, before. To be that sort of girl. To be the kind of beauty boys had to _pay_ for the privilege of accessing.

She liked that.

Hemi insisted on carrying her bags for her, all the way back up to her hotel room, setting them down on the bed, where she asked him to.

‘See you at seven, Miss Honey.’

‘Thank you, Hemi. See you! Bye!’ Honey shut the door, and went to unpack the shopping. She’d bought a nice makeup case, and put all her makeup in it. It looked a little sad, but Honey had a feeling she’d be acquiring more makeup as time went on. She ordered more room service, as her errands had taken a few hours and she was due for another meal. She ordered dessert, this time, and tried to watch a little tv while she ate. There wasn’t a lot on that she liked, but she found an episode of star trek, which was nice and relaxing as background. When she finished eating, she left the tv on and put her laptop on the desk, doing her books and sending a few emails, checking her phone, and telling her aunt that her one-night gig had just become a two-, maybe more-night gig. Her aunt texted back that she was so happy to hear that, and good luck.

Honey looked up latex fetish stuff online for a while, wanting to learn a bit more about it, since it wasn’t a fetish she had any experience with. She found a bodysuit ‘with condoms’, and stared at it for a while, her pussy tensing and relaxing in arousal, wet and flush and her clit was pressed against those silky nylon panties…

 _Oh_ , Honey thought, sucking on her bottom lip, _I am going to **really** like tonight’s gig…._


	4. Latex

The people that were allowed into the club tonight were not boys, and they were not beautiful, and the rules were stricter because they were not kind.

They were men. Old and rich and disgusting men, who had money and nothing else—no heart, no soul, no class, no manners. Their money was the only reason Mistress allowed them. It pleased her to take their money and use it against them.

The girls working tonight would not have to see these men leering at them like they were nothing more than meat; they would not have to hear the crass words of these men soiling their ears and minds with filth; they would not have to interact with these men, or be pushed around by them. Her girls were worth more than that, and not one single inch of skin would be directly touched by men. The Mistress was kind, as well as fair.

Honey was not the only girl tonight, there were others. Honey was, however, the first to arrive, and the most obedient. Many girls, when given the instructions and the wardrobe (tailored to them and their tastes), always did some little rebellion. Honey did not, for the Mistress did not think it counted that Honey had braided her hair before winding it into a bun; it was easier to make a bun that way, and Honey had admitted a lack of skill in doing her own grooming on her application.

The Mistress did not meet her, but saw her arrive, and Honey’s Nurse met her at the entrance, leading her up to the preparation room.

Honey expected to have to undress, but she was a little disappointed that Mistress wasn’t there to see her. The Nurse let her undress behind a screen, and Honey carefully hung and folded everything, coming out when she was naked.

‘Very good, now let’s see your pussy…’

Honey laid down and the Nurse pulled out the plugs, leaving her feeling empty. She tried not to, but she made a little bereft noise when the Nurse pulled them out.

‘Oh, I know, Honey, I know; but you’re doing very well, your body is bouncing right back.’

‘I might have used ice packs this morning, a little bit,’ Honey admitted guiltily. Contrary to getting in trouble for “cheating”, the Nurse made a delighted cooing noise.

‘Oh, good for you, clever girl. That probably helped a lot. You keep doing that whenever you feel the need, if it helps. Now,’ she said, helping Honey sit up. ‘Let’s get you into the suit. Yours is black today, but the condoms are red, as are the nipples.’

She pulled a bottle of lube out of a cabinet, and unrolled a textured floor mat. ‘This is so you don’t slip, but put that lube all over yourself, you don’t want this suit sticking while we pull it on you, believe me.’ The Nurse gave one of her pleasant little giggles, and Honey smiled.

‘Yes ma’am,’ she said, playfully, making the Nurse giggle again, as she bustled about. There was a suit she laid on the table, that had been carefully rolled, and there was a pump, and a pair of pointe boots, and last of all, earplugs, the soft kind that were like putty.

‘Suit first, then earplugs, then the hood, and then I’ll help you into the boots.’

‘What’s the pump for?’ Honey asked, a little nervously. Deliciously nervous.

‘Oh, that’s just to make sure it fits all the little nooks and crannies, don’t you worry, dear, you’ll be fine.’

Honey sat on the chair the Nurse offered, and the Nurse started working her into the suit, feet first, and then smoothing it carefully up her legs, and then began the slow, torturous work of spreading Honey’s legs and working the latex of the condom into her. The suit fit like it was her own skin, and the nurse made sure each and every fold of Honey’s fattened labia and swollen clit were encased in a sheet of red latex, and even the ruffles and curves on the inside did not escape, even Honey’s cervix did not escape, and a very thin rod pushed the latex condom through her cervix, inside her womb.

‘Nn! What was that?’

‘Just pushing it all the way in, Honey, dear. Keeps it from slipping off.’

Honey’s ass was next, but this was a much less complicated affair—until it became apparent the condom for her ass was stiff, holding her ass open, the inside a round and hollow plug that made her feel full and empty at the same time.

‘There—oh, darling, you’re doing so well, you really are such a pleasure to work with.’

Honey glowed at this praise, and they continued, putting her breasts in, the nurse removing the plugs in her nipples and pushing a condom to line inside her nipples, before pushing different, red rubber plugs back in over it. This was, Honey supposed, to make sure her tits remained centred in the suit. It felt wonderful, and the hilt of the plug gave her nipples a pointed, harsh appearance. Next were the sleeves, and then the nurse zipped up the back, and carefully slid the hood on over her hair, unfastening her bun and braid and adjusting it slightly so it could be pulled through a hole in the top back of the hood.

‘Now, dear,’ the Nurse said. ‘the next part is going to take away your two main senses, do you want a minute?’

‘No,’ Honey said, ‘That will make it worse. I’m ready. I trust you. I trust Mistress.’

The Nurse smiled, patting her cheek. ‘Such a willing girl,’ she praised gently. ‘Okay, here we go…’ She gently put in the earplugs, and then slipped the hood on, making sure the breathing holes were in the correct place, and gently inserting the little device that would hold Honey’s nose even further open, just to make sure she could breathe. The Nurse then went about pushing in the last condom, the one for Honey’s mouth, and then in went the gag from last night, and the Nurse saw Honey’s latex-covered throat begin to work around it. Honey gave a thumbs up, which the Nurse found endearing.

She directed Honey to the chair again, and Honey sat down, and felt the Nurse put the boots on. They zipped up the back, and were only knee-high, and the Nurse cleaned away the lubricant that had gotten on the floor, made sure the floor was dry and dusted it with friction powder to make sure. The heels and toes of the boots were also coated in a high-grip material, but even so, a fall was possible. The Nurse attached the pump and suctioned the suit to Honey, polished her up, then had two of the boys come in and help Honey walk.

Honey wasn’t sure what was happening, once she was standing, but she stood quietly, holding on to the bar the Nurse had directed her hand to, and then the suction started, and she felt the latex tightening around her, making her feel trapped in a strange, comfortable way. Then, she felt the Nurse smoothing her hands over Honey, all over her, with fast, gentle, airy motions. It took Honey some time to figure it out, and that was only when she felt the circular patterns on her tits.

_She was being polished. She was being polished, like some kind of—like an object!_

Like a _beloved_ object, an _important_ object. Honey shivered at the thought, and felt gentle hands on her arms, and tried taking a step, and then another. Very tiny steps. Heel toe, she reminded herself, heel toe…

She was carried down the stairs and gently led over and pushed down, her waist touching some kind of highly-padded, curved surface.

_We’re going to put you in a wall…_ she remembered, as her tits were guided to hang on either side of the contoured surface she was laying face-down on. The face cradle was padded like a massage chair. Someone stroked her back comfortingly, as something was pushed into her mouth, into the hollow of the gag. Cool water started to trickle down her throat, as the thing dispensing it began to pump. She realised, with a thrill, that this was another Machine—or maybe just part of the Machine, maybe there was only one Machine and it was huge and ran all over the building, like a mechanical extension of the Mistress’ will….

She couldn’t help but swallow, even as it pumped, steadily, in and out. She’d just started to feel sort of peaceful and lulled by the silence and the darkness when she felt the first sensation below her waist. Something had been dropped into her ass, and a cock had started fucking her. This pattern went on: something would drop into her ass, and then she’d be fucked, and she started to realise they must be tokens, her ass must be her coin purse, tonight. The thought was funny, and yet, strange as it did seem, and funny as it did seem, Honey felt herself getting turned on by the feeling of each token.

After a while, she thought to herself that the boys tonight weren’t lasting very long, and seemed to be in an awful hurry. But she didn’t mind it. The air smelled nice, it was cool and just humid enough, and smelled like pine and the ocean.

-

She was doing very well; all the girls were doing well, most of them were probably half-asleep, with how comfortable they were, and how shielded from uncomfortable smells and sounds and sights they were. The men came on them as much as in them, and complained loudly to one another of the rules, and of the rules being enforced so strictly. But the pussy, they said, was damnably good, and worth the trouble. They had to grudgingly admit the pussy was always better here.

The Mistress, watching them from her throne room, smiled at that, sipping her champagne.

When it was four hours in, the first wave of clientele were kicked out, and the clean up began, until everything was sparkling again, including the latex-covered girls.

Honey’s ass was stuffed full of tokens, so many that it was good they were bead-shaped, or she might have been in pain. But the Mistress thought of these things. She came down to observe the girls; it wasn’t time to remove their hoods, not yet; but it was time to give them pleasure.

‘Fill their asses to the brim, then give them a proper fucking, until they come,’ she told her boys, and they dutifully obeyed.

‘Mistress, I don’t think Miss Honey can fit any more than her tokens.’

The Mistress smiled, pausing to push one last token in. Honey twitched and shifted her feet, her pussy twitching. Mistress reached down and gently squeezed her clit. ‘I know,’ she said in her low, smoked-velvet voice, and then spoke to her boy. ‘Spread her vagina open and fill her womb, then send her up to me. The men don’t get any more of her, tonight.’

‘Yes, Mistress. And leave the tokens in?’

‘Oh, yes, leave them in. We must follow our own rules, boy.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

-

Honey felt stuffed, but not as comfortably used as last night. Really, tonight had been kind of boring. She was sure she’d fallen asleep at one point! But after it all stopped, she felt the strange feeling of water being sprayed at her, in her, only she wasn’t _wet_ because it wasn’t _her_ getting wet, it was the suit. Then, after a long pause, someone pushed one more token into her ass. She couldn’t whimper, but she felt her pussy—and her poor, stuffed little ass—tense, and then someone squeezed her clit with a slow, gentle firmness that made her feel sure it was Mistress.

She felt something pushed into her pussy, and something that vibrated slow and hard was put up against her clit, and she was slowly stretched wider, and wider, and wider…

The thing in her mouth kept pumping, all through this.

-

When her passage was the right diameter, the boy slid a tube of hard rubber inside her, to hold her open, and started to carefully insert the probe into her latex-clad cervix. The end of the sheath was able to balloon to the size of a grapefruit, which was a perfect starter size, and would make getting the suit off impossible. For good measure, the boy also filled up the balloon at the end of her catheter, making sure her bladder was visible from the outside.

-

Honey was definitely awake now—awake and having lots more fun. After being stretched, she wasn’t filled up but held open, and something small and thin went wonderfully deep inside her, though it was hard to tell details because of the latex. She could only feel pressure, and could only vaguely feel temperature when it was cold. There was no cold, here, so it took her some time to realise something was filling her up… filling her up _very_ deep. _In my uterus_ , she thought, with a kind of awed realisation. The warmth that she was starting to register was heavy and comforting.

Then, the pressure in her bladder increased, and she was suddenly desperate to be released, and every pump of the Machine in her mouth felt like it was immediately adding to the lade, even though that, of course, wasn’t really happening. But she started to shift, and felt strong hands holding her legs still, while something still vibrated slow and hard against her clit, but the latex was keeping her from coming.

The Machine stopped pumping, and the vibrations on her clit stopped, and the thing was taken out of her gag, and she was being pulled up again, and led somewhere else, her ass feeling full and heavy and her pussy feeling horribly open and exposed, even as her womb felt heavy and full and wonderful. She could almost imagine that the tightness in her nipples was because of milk.

A thin something was tied around her clit, and tightened, and she was suddenly standing alone, and someone was tugging her by the clit, and she walked, carefully, and the string kept tugging her forward every few steps. After a hundred steps, she was bent over onto what felt like a much more comfortable version of the contoured surface from before, and someone was strapping her legs apart, against two supports, and she felt very sure, suddenly, that this must be Mistress taking her into the back room again.

More tokens were pushed into her ass, though it strained to fit them, and a weight was attached to the string around her clit, and Mistress started it swinging. Honey whimpered, tensing just to see how it felt to fight against the weight, how it felt to tense after each new token shoved into her….

-

‘You are such a treasure, Honey,’ the Mistress said, pushing another token into her, watching the pendulum swing from her clit, and pondering what to do to her next. Her pussy and ass started to tense, and after a moment, the Mistress realised she was experimenting, and chuckled.

‘Oh, is that how it is, hm? You want more challenge?’ She took off the weight, and got out a needle of the enlarging solution. ‘Let’s make your clit bigger, then…’ She slid the needle in, and started to push the plunger down. The change was immediately visible, the clit swelling to twice its size, straining the latex, looking very tortured indeed with the ring tight around the base. The Mistress flicked the clit with her finger, then, thoughtfully, moved to suck it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. It twitched inside her mouth, and she could feel the moment Honey began to come for her. Swiftly, she pumped more into Honey’s womb, in time with the pulses of her orgasm, and heard Honey moan louder and louder.

‘ _Goood_ girl, do you feel your belly pressing out?’ the Mistress asked, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, but seeing Honey starting to squirm. Having her encased in latex made things so much more challenging, but the Mistress would follow her own rules—the tokens could be given to Honey, but not taken from her until the end of the night, when they were counted and the amount cashed out in her paycheque. That meant the suit stayed on.

Well, the _bottom_ half of the suit, anyway… the Mistress was not herself fond of latex, but feigning she was, publicly, was a useful way to protect the girls without anyone being the wiser. She removed the hood, and the blindfold, and the gag, and looked into her new favourite’s eyes. Eyes that were already so adoring and worshipful of her.

‘Hello, Honey.’ 

‘Hello, Mistress,’ Honey said.

‘How do you find the latex?’

‘Hot,’ Honey said, with a nervous smile that got less nervous when Mistress laughed. Mistress was wearing thigh-high boots today, black and shiny, and a very short skirt, along with her usual corset. But her chest was in a pointy bra tonight, instead of being in just a sheer blouse. She looked a little scarier in her makeup too. Honey wondered why. She hadn’t known Mistress long, of course, but she knew thigh-high boots and a tiny skirt were… they seemed wrong, on Mistress. The bra was perfect, but with a corset seemed… off, somehow, for her. Maybe it was because last night, Mistress’ outfit had more closely matched the aesthetic of the pink one she’d given Honey to wear to work. ‘May I ask a question, Mistress?’

The Mistress was surprised; girls didn’t often ask questions, in her presence. ‘Yes, Honey. What is it?’ she said, as she started unzipping the suit, stopping at the waist.

‘Why are you dressed like that, today?’

‘To make the correct impression to the clientele,’ the Mistress answered, as she slid her hands under the latex and used a smoothing motion to push it off Honey’s shoulders. ‘They are different today, then last night.’

‘Last night you looked more comfortable.’

‘I was,’ the Mistress said, with a smile in her eyes that was amused and pleased at Honey’s sharpness of observation. Honey needed no verbal command to help slide her arms out of the gloved sleeves, and the Mistress decided that Honey needed a catsuit that exposed her lovely tits, as she worked the plugs free, and pulled the suit off of each breast, as she went on, ‘But clothing is communication, and we must communicate clearly when we are working.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, and the Mistress was pleased at her instincts. ‘Did I make a lot tonight, Mistress?’ she asked, and wiggled her ass a little. ‘It feels like a lot,’ she said, biting her lip to stifle a giggle. The Mistress laughed—a pretty sound, like water—and squeezed Honey’s tits affectionately.

‘Yes, dove, you made so much in the first half I had to take you off the floor.’

Honey’s skin felt sticky and slick at the same time, with a mix of sweat and lube, and she was surprised her makeup still felt like it was all in place; then again, it had been so expensive she hadn’t even recognised the brand names on the containers. Her nipples felt strange, without the plugs she’d grown used to in them, but it was very nice to have Mistress squeezing and stroking them in her gloved hands. Honey had never seen her without gloves on. They were very pretty, obviously made by hand just for Mistress, and Honey was rather jealous. She had always wanted a pair of gloves that fit that well.

Mistress kissed her, and Honey promptly stopped these wonderings, kissing back and making happy little noises in her throat. _Mistress was kissing her!_ And not only that, but her lips felt so big and amazing and soft and different. They hadn’t been thin before, but now they were… huge.

(She’d read somewhere, months ago, that a first time shouldn’t increase the size so much so quickly, but her reality was that… well, whatever the Nurse had used _had_. Was it a special secret thing they just called Botox? Probably, Honey decided.)

The Mistress had kissed her not on a whim, but as part of a larger and more long-contemplated decision to allow Honey into her life, rather than simply her protection. Her hands continued enjoying the softness of Honey’s breasts, even when she pulled back, listening to Honey make tiny sounds in her throat, eyes closed.

‘Is that nice, my dear?’ the Mistress asked.

Honey nodded.

‘Do you like me playing with the nice big chest I gave you?’

Honey gave a little moan, the fatness of her clit feeling even bigger.

‘Do you want me to fill up your little womb until you look pregnant, Honey?’ the Mistress purred, delighting in the image of it. It would take commitment on Honey’s part, but it was one of the Mistress’ fondest desires, all the more because she had never gotten to do it on anyone but herself.

‘Oh, _Mistress_ ,’ Honey said, breathless and gazing up at the Mistress with her pupils blown wide, lips parted as she panted. ‘ _Please yes please.’_

Well, that was the next project settled, then, the Mistress thought, with pleasure.


	5. Play Pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey begins her play pregnancy, and the Mistress decides to take a little weekend holiday....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am not dead! Wow, this story got popular--not only with y'all wonderful folks, but with me, too! It's become my favourite story to write, and I've finally got further ideas for it, now that I'm settled down in the rehab house. As always, I cherish and appreciate being told what people liked about my stories. <3

Mistress sent her home, with the usual squishy plugs in Honey’s ass and pussy; but what she prized was the heavy way her womb felt, warm and solid with what Mistress had left inside her. She’d told Honey she was going to fill Honey at the same rate as a pregnancy, that Honey’s body might react thinking it was pregnant for real, might fill Honey’s tits, _might_ do a lot of things. Honey flushed and felt arousal wet her silky nylon panties just thinking about that. She couldn’t really see the bulge yet, but if she pressed she could feel it.

She took a shower, and curled up in bed with her hands on her belly, smiling.

.oOo.

The next day, Honey woke to a steaming breakfast and a note from Mistress, telling her to eat everything, prepare to go out, and arrive sharply at twelve o’clock for lunch. Honey delighted in obeying, shivering as she strained to empty the tray of the large breakfast she’d been given. There was a mountain of crepes drowned in butter and boysenberry syrup, scrambled eggs so fluffy and creamy she felt like she was eating clouds, a very fine, very large cut of steak, and latkes with plenty of applesauce and sour cream to put on them, and a tall glass of milk, filled to the brim. It was an effort to finish all of it, but the thought of how pleased Mistress would be spurred her on, until she was draining the last of her milk from her glass, and felt her shirt straining just a bit from the bulge of her stomach.

She leaned back and really savoured the feeling; being full was such a… such a _visceral_ sort of satisfaction, and one that felt very taboo to indulge in, for Honey was from a culture of deprivation when it came to food, and it hadn’t occurred to her that she was, until that moment. She hummed to herself, and put her hands on her belly, and just felt how her body was reacting. Her stomach felt stretched, it was true; but it was a _pleasant_ sort of stretched, like the feeling of stretching after a good night’s sleep, in a warm bed. And she felt heavy, and sleepy, rather content with everything. Honey found herself stroking not her belly but her tits, playing with her nipples so she could add to the buzz of pleasure. Her pussy was pressed against the chair, and she had learnt by now not to touch it—it belonged to Mistress, not Honey. After this feast, she put on her clothes and makeup, pulled up her hair, and went downstairs.

.oOo.

The Nurse was waiting, and Honey was taken into quite a different room than the ones that had been used to prepare her for her jobs; those rooms had the feeling of old-fashioned medical offices—but this room, this new room, looked and felt very much like a bedroom, and an intimately small one at that, with only a bed in it.

‘Just lay down on your back, Honey, we’re going to double your lade. At this rate you’ll be showing by the end of the week!’

Honey let the Nurse position her legs, pushing her skirts up to facilitate, but not taking them off. Honey’s shoes were even still on, and she felt wonderfully humiliated, as the nurse stroked her clit through her soaked nylon panties, before pulling them aside and starting to spread Honey open with a speculum. She clicked it very wide, but stopped before it really hurt, and then returned to stroking Honey’s clit. Honey whimpered, unable to help herself.

‘I know, dear, I know; but we’ve got to get you aroused to open up that cervix, it will feel better that way. Try not to come.’

Mercifully, the Nurse was stroking in such a way as to make coming impossible—though that did make the torment of it worse.

‘You’re allowed to make whatever noise you need to, my dear, don’t you worry about that.’

Honey took it as permission to almost howl, and sob, and make noises that didn’t have names, as the Nurse prepared her, and eventually slid a small tube into her cervix, and began to fill Honey up. The Mistress had instructed her to double the volume, or to fill Honey as much as Honey could stand without injury, whichever was greater. The Nurse, therefore, filled Honey quite a bit past the original amount, Honey’s arousal making her so pliable.

‘Oh, oh god, it’s so heavy, it’s so much…’

‘Can you take just a bit more?’ the Nurse asked, not indicating if they were done or not. Honey panted for a few seconds, then nodded, sucking on her lower lip. The Nurse continued in this way, repeating the question fully six times, and filling Honey up until she had gotten to the second month’s worth of volume. She removed the tubing and made sure Honey’s cervix was once again sealed up, before removing the speculum and putting the squishy plug back in to stretch out Honey’s pussy, pulling Honey’s panties back over her pussy afterward, which pushed the thin, wet fabric out to hug every fat curve of labia and did nothing to disguise the bulge of her unnaturally swollen clitoris. The Nurse gave it all a little pat; it was such a fine little pussy, she couldn’t help herself. She let Honey’s legs down, and Honey lay on the bed, her legs splayed and heeled shoes resting askew on the floor as she composed herself. The Nurse let her alone for it. The Mistress would be in to see her, soon.

.oOo.

‘How is she?’

‘She’s taking to it beautifully, Ma’am, I expect she’ll start lactating soon, if we get her on the Machine twice a day at least.’

‘Every six hours, not twice a day.’

‘She’ll have to sleep here, Ma’am, are you sure?’

‘I am aware she has only been here a short time, but I have pushed her more than I push new girls, and she has not simply tolerated it—she has _enjoyed_ it. Have you not noticed?’

‘We all have, Ma’am, I certainly was hoping you had, too. It’s been good to see you so happy, lately. Time was when a night dealing with the men would have you in a sour mood for a week. But you were _smiling_ by the time you sent her home yesterday.’

‘I was, wasn’t I? She’s a good girl. She obeys _and_ takes an interest. …I think I shall take her with me.’

‘To the cocktail party, Ma’am? Is that wise?’

‘Oh, no, no, not the _cocktail party_ _,_ no. To my dear brother’s house. I think I shall go there for a long week-end.’

.oOo.

The Mistress came in, and tonight she was wearing a smart black jacket and white and black pants that fit so tight Honey could see that Mistress’ pussy was also plumped up and her clit was enlarged, the way Honey’s was. Her mouth watered a little, seeing it, but she blushed, looking away quickly, realising she’d lingered a breath too long. Mistress put a riding crop beneath her chin, turning her face up to look at Mistress, who looked more herself tonight, her lips red and her green eyes wreathed so classic and so sharp.

‘Why were you looking at my cunt, Honey?’ she asked gently. Honey’s pupils shrank in fear, and she blushed hotter, even as her own pussy got wet and flush, just thinking about Mistress’ cunt, thinking about how everyone called Honey’s a _“ _pussy_ ”_, but _Mistress_ had a _“ _cunt_ ”_.

‘I…I-I’m sorry, Mistress, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ Honey babbled. ‘I was—I was just, um—’

The riding crop was now placed upon her sparkly, lipglossed lips. She stopped talking.

‘Do not say “um”, Honey, it is unbecoming.’ A smile. ‘I much prefer my girl to say “like”, if she feels the need to use a hedging word.’ She took the crop away, so that her girl could speak.

Honey was silent in sheer surprise for a while, at that, her brain momentarily distracted from fear while it had to understand this new information. ‘You… you _want_ me to say “like” all the time?’

A nod. ‘Yes. I find it pleasing. Now, again, and answer the question, this time. Remember, I vowed to never say one thing and mean another.’

That was true; it had been in the contract Honey had signed, before her first night. She swallowed hard. ‘I… like, have never seen your cunt before, Mistress.’

‘Does seeing it give you _ideas_ , Honey, dear?’ Mistress asked, with one side of her red lips curled higher than the other. Honey pressed her lips together (which felt all kinds of _different_ , now), and nodded.

‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said, dutifully.

‘Does seeing it make your little mouth _water_ , Honey? Do you want to kiss Mistress there?’

‘ _Yes_ , Mistress.’

An altogether pleasant chuckle. ‘Good, that’s how you _should_ feel. Now, come with me, we are going away for the week-end.’

Honey liked how Mistress said “week-end” as though it were still a foreign word. She was so _fancy_. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. She was surprised that she wasn’t worried—two days in and she was being taken somewhere? Shouldn’t she be worried? But her contract said she could leave at any time, and Honey had plenty of money in her bank account for a taxi home, and her phone was in the pocket of her jacket.

She decided she was definitely safe, and got to her feet, following Mistress the opposite direction Honey was usually led down the hallway up here, and through a door that led to a spiral staircase, in the centre of which was an old-fashioned elevator.

‘We are going to visit My Dear Brother. He lives outside of the city, and keeps ponies.’

Unlike the backstage-black of the rest of the hallways, this stairwell was white, and had beautiful old-fashioned windows that let in the light through frosted glass. The shallow, roomy steps were made of marble, and their heels clicked and echoed satisfyingly as they went down, coming out of a door that led to the cleanest alley Honey had ever seen. It was just like Mistress, she thought, to make sure even the _alley_ was sparkling clean and tidy. She was just that kind of person.

The towncar was waiting, and Hemi opened the door for both of them, and Mistress made sure Honey got in first, and Honey scooted over quickly, Mistress managing to make even getting into a car look elegant. It made Honey realise cars really were inelegant, even nice ones like this.

Honey thought about Mistress’ answer, about the fact that Honey absolutely believed that Mistress already had things for Honey all packed. It was sort of nice, but Honey felt guilty about _liking_ that she didn’t have to think.

‘What are you contemplating, Honey?’ Mistress asked.

‘Just that it’s, like, it’s nice that I could just… like, just say yes, and not worry about going back to my hotel to pack, or like, checking out, or… whatever,’ she said, surprised at how much her speech differed with just that one little change. She sounded… more like she looked, Honey supposed. Dumber, a mean little part of her mind whispered. ‘Do I sound dumb?’

‘Is your apparent intelligence important?’ Mistress challenged gently, wanting Honey to think on it. Honey was quiet for a long time.

‘Is it important to _you_ , Mistress?’

Mistress smiled; the correct answer without trying, once again. ‘No, Honey.’

‘Does it… does it _please_ you, when I sound dumb?’ Honey asked, not sure why there was a hopeful lilt in her tone. She saw Mistress in profile, and saw her red lips curl in a smile that made Honey feel shivery with how very much was hidden in it.

‘I think it might feel relaxing, for my Honey to sound like she is simple. For her, to, perhaps, play at being simple, so that she can go through life more simply, and enjoy herself without worry.’ Mistress leaned over and kissed Honey’s temple, patting her tits affectionately, the same sort of way the Nurse had patted Honey’s pussy, only a little while ago. It pressed gently against Honey’s belly, which was still full from breakfast, and even fuller from her increased lade (lade, what a lovely word that was).

‘Oh,’ Honey said, liking that very much, as a concept; but also amazed she hadn’t really stopped to think about _why_ being thought of as dumb was so abhorrent. Now that she thought about it, she wanted to do it even _more_ , as rebellion against all the ideas that she _shouldn’t_ like it. She settled back in her seat, glad the seatbelt was automatically configured to accommodate her tits. As they drove on, the city traffic giving way to suburbs and then woods, Honey found her hands drifting to her belly, which was firm and just so slightly poked out. She smiled, feeling it; and her hands drifted up to her tits as well, just feeling them there, under her jacket, feeling the way they poked out from the soft cone-shaped cups of her old-fashioned bra.

Mistress was watching her, Honey knew; but she wasn’t ready to say anything—she wasn’t sure what she _would_ say, and then she stopped, and tried to be dumb. Dumb Honey wouldn’t even think about it, she’d just touch her body and play with herself and only think about how that made her feel good. Honey tried to do that, squeezing her tits—her _titties_ , she thought to herself, _titties sounds more… like, bimbo-y_ _—_ she giggled, oh, oh this _was_ good! She never realised how much she _worried_ about this, until she had the choice to _not_ do it.

Mistress smiled, watching Honey practise letting go of her fears of acting like the bimbo that the Mistress had made her appear to be. ‘Remember not to come, girl,’ Mistress reminded Honey gently.

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, still playing with her titties; a thought occurred to her, and she shyly looked up at Mistress from under her false eyelashes. ‘Mistress, will you, like, stroke my pussy until I come?’

‘Hmm,’ Mistress said, and gave it some thought. ‘Yes, I think I will.’

The car pulled over, and she unbuckled her seatbelt, before unbuckling Honey. ‘No,’ she said, as Honey tried to undo her own jacket. ‘I want to play a game.’

‘Oooh, I like games!’ Honey said, on impulse, getting into character. She bounced, liking how it made her titties bounce, the skin pulling pleasantly, the weight of them pressing down on her belly and making her pussy even more wet. ‘What game are we playing, Mistress?’

‘The one where Honey pretends she is a dolly, and can’t move on her own.’

Honey giggled again. ‘Okay, Mistress.’ She let Mistress undress her, feeing sort of shivery as Mistress gently unbuttoned her jacket, then left it on her shoulders, hanging open, while she unbuttoned the delicate blouse, smoothing her hands over Honey’s bra as she pushed it aside.

‘Mm,’ Mistress murmured, ‘what a luscious pair of titties.’ She traced her long pointed nails over the mesh over Honey’s nipples, which were already flush and erect with arousal. Honey sucked on her lower lip and whimpered happily. ‘I think My Dear Brother will have a fun dress-up box that will bare these pretty nipples…’ She unhooked the bra, and Honey realised that was the whole reason she’d been given a front-hook bra, as Mistress peeled it off her tits one by one, letting each one drop heavily down. Honey gave a little moan at the feeling, and gasped a little when Mistress lifted the one nearest herself, lowered her head, and began to suck on Honey’s nipple, her mouth leaving lipstick around Honey’s pink areola.

‘Oh—M-mistress!’

Honey’s voice was so _surprised_ , so _grateful_ , the Mistress loved it. She kept suckling, swirling her tongue around the sensitive nipple, dipping her tongue into the unnaturally-wide opening, enjoying how Honey’s breath caught, at the pleasure shooting straight down to her pussy. Her pussy, which the Mistress now reached under her skirt, under her slip, to find soaking through her panties, her slip, probably her skirt— _oh, dear_ _,_ the Mistress thought, as she teased Honey’s pussy from outside the silky panties the Mistress had given her to wear, _Brother Dearest is going to have something to say about girls who wet their clothes…._ She pushed against the soft plug in her girl’s entrance, and Honey panted, and was likely ready to come—but it wouldn’t be any good to make her come so _soon_ …. Mistress took her hand away, and her mouth, and leaned back, watching Honey pant, and whimper, and look at her pleadingly. Did she already have the instinct not to speak?

‘Speak, Honey. I did not forbid you from that.’

‘Yes, Mistress. I… I rilly—’ Honey paused, hearing the pronunciation; but Mistress was smiling, and she went on using it. ‘—rilly, rilly, _rilly_ wanna come, Mistress. Please,’ she added, quickly. ‘Ma’am,’ she added further. Mistress chuckled, stroking her hair.

‘Hemi,’ she said, ‘We’re ready to keep going.’ She leaned back, buckling her seat belt. ‘Put your titties back in your clothes, Honey, and get your seatbelt on.’

Honey failed to swallow down a disappointed noise, but all Mistress did was chuckle gently again, and so Honey felt it was all right. She put her tittes back in the pink bra, and then the blouse, and then her jacket, and then her seatbelt, _like a good girl_ , she thought to herself, smiling.

‘Good girl,’ Mistress said, as her seatbelt clicked in place, and the car began to move again. The Mistress thought, as the familiar landmarks went by the windows, on what Brother Dearest _was_ going to say. He had two ponies of his own, and a very different sort of Precious, one that he dressed up in very different frilly clothes, and played with very different sorts of toys. Still, the Mistress was very sure Honey and Lamb would get along. Lamb would be utterly enchanted with her, and think her a kind of princess. Lamb would also, the Mistress thought, with a wicked smile to herself, assume that Honey’s titties were for hir to suckle on, and perhaps even leap to the childish conclusion that the Mistress’ customary present was Honey, for Lamb had been pleading with Brother Dearest to get hir a wet-nurse for some time, and Brother Dearest had requested the Mistress find one, the Mistress being the one that lived in the City, and had so many girls applying to work at her establishment, surely it would be easy to find one that was suitable for Lamb.

The Mistress was more and more sure that taking Honey up here for the week-end was a grand idea.


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey and Mistress arrive at Brother Dearest's, and meet both him and Lamb, before settling in....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout outs: MalachiJay, PFDiva, my two fans. Kisses, darlings, you two are invaluable. To my gf, who just got here; thank you so much for reading my work, love, it means the world to me.  
> -  
> Wow, it only took me like, SIX goddamned chapters to figure out what Mistress looks like!

Brother Dearest had a few acres up in the woods, and a beautiful, perfectly symmetrical, old-fashioned manor house, with a wonderful circular drive. Hemi pulled around and under the porte-cochere; which was good, as it had begun to rain heavily in the past few minutes. He got out, and opened the door for them both, Honey first.

Honey got out, and smoothed her skirt down, and did a slow turn.

‘Do I look okay, Hemi?’ she asked. ‘Nothing out of place back there?’

‘No, Miss Honey,’ he said, ‘but you have a wet spot.’

‘Oh no!’ Honey said, worried for a few seconds, before she decided to ask. ‘Is there a spare skirt in my luggage, Hemi? Can you get one for me?’

‘Yes, Miss Honey, if Mistress says it’s okay.’

Honey leaned down at the waist, bracing her hands on the back seat, noticing a wet spot on the black upholstery as well. ‘Mistress,’ she asked. ‘There’s a wet spot on my skirt, can I like, change clothes? I want to make a good impression on your brother.’

Mistress smiled. ‘If you wish, Honey, you may change your skirt for a new one.’ She was always very specific, to prevent disobedience via misinterpretation.

‘Thank you, Mistress!’ Honey said, and stood back up with a little bounce. Hemi went around to the trunk, and came back with another skirt exactly the same as the one Honey was wearing, but clean. It was the same style, the same shade of pink and everything. Honey was glad, because it and her jacket were a matching set. Quickly, she unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it and her slip, folding it loosely and taking the new skirt, carefully stepping into it so it wouldn’t get on the wet ground, and so her wet shoes wouldn’t get on it, and pulled it carefully on, pausing to caress her belly with one hand, the other holding up the skirt.

‘Good girl, obeying me,’ Mistress said, as she took Hemi’s offered hand, and got out of the car. ‘And good boy, Hemi.’

‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Hemi said softly, and it was then that Honey, zipping up her skirt, realised that _all_ of the people who worked for Mistress were hers. All of them. Even Hemi. Even… Nurse? The thought gave Honey a _lot_ of pause. Why had she never thought about that, before? But they gave orders—at least, Nurse did. What kind of submissive gave orders? Honey thought about that, very intrigued, and decided she needed to ask Mistress—but later. Maybe after dinner. Dinner? Honey didn’t wear a watch (Mistress hadn’t given her one) so she didn’t know what time it was, and the rain made it seem like it could be _any_ old time.

‘Come along, Honey,’ Mistress said, ‘watch your step on the stones.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, walking around the back of the car, to be safe, because Hemi was getting back into the driver’s seat—probably to drive it to a garage, Honey thought.

As they walked up to the steps, Honey was a little nervous—she couldn’t _imagine_ what a _man_ like Mistress would be like. Scary, possibly—but Mistress wouldn’t tolerate that, would she? She wouldn’t call him “my dear” _anything,_ if he was like _that_. Was he an older brother, or a younger one? Or a twin? Honey had a lot of questions, but they were silenced as they went up the steps, and Mistress keyed into the big wooden doors of the house.

They stepped into a very grand room, with wooden floors of real parquet that were polished to a mirror shine, and two curving staircases coming down from a gallery full of paintings on the second floor. Through a grand archway between the stairs, Honey could see a grand piano, and Honey looked up to see the roof above them was full of skylights, that’s where the light was coming from—because the walls were panelled in wood, and there was a door to either side of the foyer.

‘Wow,’ Honey breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. There was beautiful, intricate furniture everywhere—little hall tables with flowers in vases, and the sort of chairs and benches that aren’t really meant to be sat in; and there were beautiful classical paintings… and then she started to, slowly, realise something. All the paintings were in the classical style, but they must have been modern, because the anatomy was much, much better than classical paintings ever got, especially in the faces. But from the draping to the settings, to the colours, the paintings were done just like those old ones. The subjects, however, were all shapes and sizes, all different ethnicities. Honey took a step, which echoed in the silent house. It reminded her to look back at Mistress.

‘May I go look at the art, Mistress?’

Mistress gave a small nod, smiling at her. ‘Of course, Honey. Please do.’

Honey tried to walk quietly, but her heels snapped on the floor rather smartly, as they were meant to, as she went over to the one that had caught her eye the most—it depicted a beautiful man with dark brown skin, and dreadlocks that were done over with real gilt, driving a chariot pulled by those slender, golden horses that Honey couldn’t remember the name of. There were many golden ropes trailing off the edge of the picture, but the light source was coming from that side of the painting, and so Honey could guess what the chariot was pulling across the sky full of lush clouds. This was a painting of Apollo, and Honey just looked at it for a long time, in awe, before she heard the pounding of someone running full speed down the upstairs hall, and then stopping at the top of the stairs, and a voice crying out, with child-like glee,

‘Auntie!’

Honey looked up, to see a person her own age, about, dressed in the kind of frilly sort of dress that reminded one of an old-fashioned sort of baby doll, with bouncing black curls, and soft brown skin, a little lighter than Mistress’, and with a warmer tone; and big brown eyes, and little patent-leather mary-jane shoes. They stopped, seeing Honey; and Honey smiled at them.

‘Hello,’ Honey said, ‘My name is Honey.’

‘ ‘lo, Miss Honey,’ they said, shyly. Honey wasn’t quite sure how to act, but she seemed to be doing well going along as she was; this person was acting like a… like a small… a _small_ ; and dressed like one, and talking like one, too. Honey decided they must be playing at being small, or maybe a living baby-doll, the way Honey was playing at being a bimbo-doll.

Lamb came the rest of the way down the stairs, much quieter, holding the hand-rail in a way that said, clearly, they had been told to do so, and kept looking at Honey—at Honey’s chest.

‘Are your titties so big because they’re full of milk?’ Lamb asked.

‘No, Mistress made them that big,’ Honey said, arching her back proudly, tossing her head a little.

‘With milk?’

Honey giggled, blushing. ‘No; but maybe soon, they might have milk.’

‘Can I have it?’

Honey was blushing, but she liked this game—she felt sure this was another person like her, was Mistress’ brother’s version of Honey, herself. ‘We-ell,’ she said, looking up and pursing her lips, putting a finger to the side of her mouth, and trying overall to sound as dumb as possible. ‘I don’t know…’ she lilted, and rolled her eyes over to Mistress. ‘I guess we have to ask Mistress, they’re _her_ titties.’

‘Auntie, did you bring me her because she’s a wet-nurse? Pleeeeeeease? Pleasepleaseplease?’ Lamb jumped up and down, but not in an unpleasantly spoilt way; it was only excitement.

‘We are just visiting for now, Lambkin,’ Mistress said, going over to hug Lamb, and bounced one of hir little curls. ‘Where is your Dama?’

‘I’ll get him!’ Lamb announced, and ran up stairs, giggling.

‘Lamb’s pronouns are xhe-hir-hirs,’ Mistress told Honey, once Lamb’s footsteps had faded away upstairs. ‘And My Dear Brother is also called Mistress, though he goes by he-him-his.’

Honey was relieved to be told—and proud of herself for not assigning a gender to Lamb. There had been little loose trousers beneath the skirts, and it had reminded Honey that there was a time, not long ago, when _all_ children had worn dresses. How convenient, she realised, for Lamb. And anyway, weren’t dresses the most comfortable garment? And so easily made pretty!

‘Do… Do _I_ call him “Mistress”?’ Honey asked, seeing the problem, and feeling like it would be disingenuous, to use that word on anyone else, but her own Mistress. She felt a bit possessive of the word, altogether.

The Mistress saw Honey’s discomfort with the idea. ‘You may call him “Your Grace”,’ she said, after some thought on the matter, her eyes twinkling. ‘That would amuse him, I think.’

‘But would he think I was mocking him?’ Honey asked.

‘Call him “Your Grace”, Honey,’ Mistress said, so Honey wouldn’t worry about anything but obeying.

‘Yes, Mistress.’ Honey said, as Mistress came across the floor to her. Mistress’ heels were much lower than Honey’s, but her boots still snapped across the floor nicely.

‘Good girl,’ Mistress said, gently patting one of her titties. Honey was starting to realise that Mistress didn’t touch her face or hair because Honey’s hair was always styled, and her face always had makeup on it, and Mistress _didn’t want to muss any of it up._

And, well, perhaps touching Honey’s titties was also something Mistress just liked to do at every possible opportunity, Honey thought. After all, it was Mistress who had the machine to inflate them to this size, so it stood to reason she _liked_ them. Honey just… never thought about a lady who liked ladies meaning that such a lady also might very much like _big_ _titties_ ; but why not?

‘You’re thinking again,’ Mistress reminded her. ‘Are they pleasant, or unpleasant?’

‘Just wondering, like, you like girls, right? And you… you like girls with big titties?’

‘I do like girls with big titties,’ Mistress said, with a laugh dancing in her eyes.

‘I just… like, I never thought about that, before. That girls who like girls can… like, like big titties. That’s dumb, isn’t it?’ she mumbled, looking away, abashed.

‘Yes, but you _are_ dumb, and so that’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘Oh…’ Honey said, and beamed. ‘Yeah! It is!’ She giggled, just as Mistress turned to look up the stairs, and Honey did as well, to see an elegant person coming down the stairs toward them, holding Lamb’s hand in his. He was dressed in an absolutely simple white mink coat, and purple velvet smoking slippers, and nothing else. Nothing was showing of course—it was a fur coat of Quality.

His hair was dark, unlike Mistress’, and streaked with wonderful silvery-white, like stardust. At the moment, his hair looked wet, and tousled, and his golden-beige skin was shining like it was damp, and flushed.

His beautiful brown eyes looked surprised to see Honey, and he raised one of his pretty brows at Mistress.

‘Who is this, Sister Dear?’ His accent was different than Mistress’—much different. Mistress sounded very fancy, like Katherine Hepburn; her brother, however, sounded more like what Honey imagined Archie Goodwin to sound like: slick and playful in a very old-fashioned-boyish sort of way.

‘This is Honey, Brother Dearest,’ Mistress said, putting her hands on Honey’s shoulders in presentation. ‘My new doll.’

‘Well!’ Brother Dearest said, all smiles as he came toward Honey. ‘Hi there, Doll.’ He grinned at her, and Honey realised she was being teased, a little. She giggled.

‘Lambie pie says you brought her as that wet-nurse she’s been askin’ for,’ Brother Dearest went on.

‘Did xhe, now?’ Mistress said, and Lamb hid behind hir Dama, a little guiltily.

‘What’s a wet-nurse?’ Honey asked.

‘A sort of nanny that lactates for the baby,’ Mistress said, ‘Little Lamb has wanted one for such a long time.’ She looked toward Lamb, leaning down with her hands on her knees, as one spoke to very small children. ‘I’ve been looking and looking all over, precious, but I haven’t found one yet.’

Honey held her tongue; she didn’t mind the idea, certainly, of taking care of Lamb. It seemed fun, but Honey realised as she thought it over that she didn’t know exactly what Lamb was like, and maybe it needed more thought. She realised she, like Lamb, wasn’t thinking about anything but the first, impulsive desire part of her brain. _Like a dumb bimbo,_ she thought happily.

‘Miss Honey is here to play with you, and to see the ponies,’ Mistress went on. ‘Just like when Auntie comes to visit. She’s _Auntie’s_ Honey.’

‘Okay,’ Lamb said, a little sullen, then brightened. ‘Can I show Miss Honey my toys?’

‘After supper,’ Brother Dearest said gently. ‘Be a good baby-doll and go wash up for supper.’ He watched Lamb run off down toward the room with the piano, and turned back only when xhe was out of sight. ‘So,’ he said to them both, leaning on the banister and folding his arms. ‘Honey-doll, huh? Can’t’ve been your honey-doll very long—unless you’ve been hiding her from me.’

‘I would never, Brother Dearest,’ Mistress said with a serene smile, as she came over to air-kiss him on both cheeks. ‘But we’ve interrupted your toilette,’ she went on. ‘Go finish it, _do;_ I can settle in by myself.’

‘Aren’t you a sweetheart,’ he teased, pushing off the banister and turning to go back up the stairs.

‘I was taught by the best, My Dear Brother,’ Mistress said, and it had such an air of affection that Honey got the impression that Mistress might have been raised by her brother. …Or did she mean he’d taught her how to _be_ a Mistress? He _did_ look a bit older—but then again, he wasn’t wearing any makeup, and didn’t have his hair dyed; Mistress might be the same age, Honey had never seen her without makeup, and her hair did have the even, perfect colour of dye. (There was also the small matter of Brother Dearest being some kind of Asian—Honey wasn’t comfortable with guessing further than ‘Asian’ and ‘Gorgeous’—and Mistress being black, but Honey assumed somebody or both had just been adopted, was all).

‘Come along, Honey,’ Mistress said, going up the left-hand staircase. Honey followed. She hadn’t even noticed they’d skipped lunch—then again, she’d had a very big breakfast, and then… she put a hand on her belly again, pressing on it just to feel the firmness, the slight give, the way it felt so full. It was easy to get used to, but then she could press on it, or she would bend, and remember all over again.

They went down a hallway, and as their footsteps were muffled by the long, blue, Persian rug lining the hallway, Honey rested her hands on the top of her titties, and wondered about milk—and milking. Did The Machine have a part of itself that milked girls? Did it milk them hard? Could you lactate just from being milked over and over and over? Honey wondered about that. Could her titties, altered as they were by some mysterious method she didn’t really understand, give milk? Or had they lost the ability?

‘ _Can_ I give milk, Mistress?’ Honey asked, thinking of what Mistress had said, the night before. ‘I mean, like, do my titties… still work that way?’

‘Would you like them to?’ Mistress asked, mysteriously. Honey opened her mouth to reply, but Mistress held up a finger. ‘Ah-ah,’ she said, ‘ _This_ , I want you to think about, before you simply say “yes” to please me. And _research_ ,’ she added, knowing Honey’s background.

‘I—yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, blushing but happy to be told to not mindlessly obey. Mistress wanted her to _want_ it, and that was its own kind of… of hot, Honey decided. Hot was a bimbo word. She resolved herself to say _“That’s hot.”_ more often.

Mistress stopped at a door in the East Wing with a little silhouette in a little frame hung on it. It was a real silhouette, cut from black paper and pasted to a pink background. Mistress smiled at it.

‘Brother Dearest did that when we were young,’ she said, touching it fondly for a moment, before using an old-fashioned key to open the door to her suite. It was still decorated as it had been when they moved in, all in peachy pink, cream, and warm gold. The balcony that overlooked the back garden was ahead of them, and Hemi had unpacked for them, the suitcases already stowed away in the closet, the clothes put into the carved wooden armoire.

‘Did you… was this your room growing up?’ Honey asked, in awe as she walked in behind Mistress, being sure to close the door behind her quietly. Mistress liked that Honey had ladylike instincts already.

‘This house wasn’t built when I was a _little_ girl; Brother Dearest and I had it built after the old one was destroyed in an earthquake. We were at University at the time.’

‘Oh, my,’ Honey said, softly. She remembered the big earthquake that must have done it—well, actually, there were a few possible ones… _stop._ She told herself. _You don’t **have** to figure it out. Bimbo dollies don’t have to figure **anything** out._

‘Nobody was home at the time, and we didn’t lose anything we couldn’t replace,’ Mistress assured her, opening the balcony doors. It had stopped raining, and the weather was warm again, the sun shining on the freshly-washed trees and flowers, including the pink climbing roses that surrounded the balcony, their sweet scent mixing with the rain, the breeze blowing the perfume into the room. Honey took a deep breath of it, as did her Mistress.

‘I did miss this,’ Mistress said, smiling to herself. ‘Come, Honey, I want to give you a nice bath, and torment your juicy, plump little pussy, and fuck your gaping little arse, until you come for me.’

Honey blushed and squirmed, feeling her body tense around the plugs that held her pussy and her ass open and ready at all times. ‘Nnnyes Mistress, yes _please_ ….’

She followed Mistress through one of the doors, which led to a big bathroom that was tiled all in little pink hexagons, and had a huge fancy bathtub _made of pink milk-glass_ , and a really elaborate-looking hand-shower with a long hose, and Honey saw a bidet, and a door behind which was probably one of those neat little rooms for the toilet (Honey always liked those, she thought they made the bathroom cleaner). Still, she did notice something… odd.

‘Mistress, everything is pink.’ And frilly, and delicate, not at all like Mistress dressed or made herself look like.

‘Yes, Honey,’ Mistress said, stripping off her jacket and skirt, hanging them up on a little rack by the door that had hangers.

‘But you don’t wear pink, Mistress.’

Mistress always wore black, with some little accent of red somewhere, and it was very effective, with her brown skin, and her very green eyes, it made a striking combination, a very attention-getting impression. Honey contrasted Mistress’ cool palette with her warm one: though she was white, she was the kind of white that tanned very brown because of being half Sicilian; and she had her hair the pale yellow of bleach-blonde, and her pink outfit, with her tan stockings….

‘I like _looking at_ pink, Honey, if I wear it I can’t look at it.’ Mistress said, and Honey blushed, as she realised what that meant about Mistress having _her_ wear all pink.

‘Get undressed, Honey.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, and copied Mistress, hanging her things on the hangers neatly, and leaving her pink hidden platform shoes on the floor just so, before she turned to Mistress, who had gone up to the bathtub and begun to warm the water. It was very quiet, sounding more like a fountain than the roar of a bathtub. The pipes didn’t hiss at _all_.

‘Now,’ Mistress said, standing up and coming over to circle Honey where she stood, in the middle of the bathroom floor, lit from all sides and exposed. ‘Let’s have a look at my girl’s body in daylight….’

There were sunbeams falling from the ceiling, and Honey realised there must be skylights, and all the light around her, and Mistress’ words, made her blush and squirm. She looked around, and saw herself in a mirror, and stared. She hadn’t really looked at her new body head-to-toe before…. From the side, it was obvious she had a little belly, where it was once only flat; and her titties were still set a little low still; but instead of being lacklustre and sleepy, they were full and tight and pointy, with her areolae and nipples _very_ visible, and flushed. Instead of pale pinkish, her skin was unnaturally tanned, warm and sunkissed-brown, her nipples looking unnaturally pale and pink against it. Curious, she turned further, to see herself from the front rather than the side, and saw her pussy, shaved bare and still shiny from the botox, her clit poking out from her labia, hot pink and vulnerable. Hot pink, she thought, smiling, how perfect was that?

Mistress was behind her, and put her hands on Honey’s shoulders. ‘Look how beautiful we’ve made you, Honey.’

Honey watched her clit twitch, in response to Mistress’ purring in her ear.

‘I want you to get in the bath and spread your legs, and I’m going to scrub your slutty, fat little clit until your ass is all warm and slack for me, and desperate to be fucked, and then,’ Mistress purred, sliding her hands down Honey’s body, and around, until she was slowly, luxuriously kneading Honey’s titties, ‘I am going to wrap your clit in pink ribbon, so _tight_ , so you can’t come from it, and get my biggest toy from my toybox, and fuck you with it, until you learn to come from being fucked that way, and that way only.’

Honey was _dripping_ , but Mistress wasn’t done, pulling Honey’s tits like she was milking them, though not pulling or squeezing nearly hard enough; simply teasing at the type of caress, for now, getting Honey’s body used to it. It was the best way to torment the plugs in her nipples, as well…. Her whimpering was delicious….

‘I want you to get used to having your pussy denied,’ Mistress said. ‘I want you to get used to your poor, hungry, _swollen_ little pussy being empty and gaping, unless you’re working.’

‘Y-yes, Mistress,’ Honey finally managed, almost _sobbing_ , tingling all over and trying hard to keep watching herself in the mirror, watching Mistress behind her, watching Mistress squeeze and pull at her huge titties, at her huge nipples. God, she looked like such a trashy _slut_ right now… and being with Mistress, it being Mistress’ will, was what made it hotter. Her pussy _did_ feel empty, and she _had_ been wondering why Mistress purposely ignored her vagina for her ass; now she knew, and the knowledge only made her more desperate for Mistress to fuck her pussy. Her pussy was so _huge_ now, the numbness of the botox had worn off and now she was hypersensitive…

‘When do I work again?’ she asked faintly, and Mistress chuckled, making her moan even more.

‘Friday,’ she said. Honey moaned in despair, wobbling on her feet, only held up by Mistress’ hands on her titties. Friday! Today was _Monday!_

‘Ohh,’ Mistress said, a laugh ruining her façade of sympathy. ‘Poor _baby_ , you’ll have to get used to not having your pussy fucked very often, my sugar.’ She let go of Honey’s titties slowly, making sure her girl wasn’t about to _truly_ fall down, before pulling the plug out of her arse in one fluid movement, stepping back with a click of her heels to admire the look of Honey’s second pussy—the pink, swollen ring of it, the gape that couldn’t close.

Honey felt the plug pull out so fast, and gave a gasp of shock, and then covered her face in her hands as she felt the _exposed_ feeling of being unable to close her ass at all, of it being so loose and stretched out. _Like a slutty bimbo dolly_ _,_ she thought to herself, in mortified delight. She took a steadying breath, and made her way to the bathtub, climbing in. The water was flowing over the inside, coming from under the rim all around the bathtub, that was why it sounded so lovely and quiet. The handshower wasn’t running, just sitting in its cradle (which always made it look, to Honey, like an old-fashioned telephone). On the bottom of the tub was a soft padding of towels, wet of course, in more of the soft, warm pink that was everywhere. One side of them was higher than the other, in a sort of wedge.

‘On your back, Honey, legs over the sides of the tub. Pussy up.’

 _Oh._ The wedge wasn’t for her to recline on, it was… she was supposed to lay the other way, on it. Honey turned around carefully, blushing and deliciously embarrassed at what she was about to do. She lay down, and scooted her hips up the wedge’s incline, which was rather steep, until her arse was hanging off the edge of it, just barely, and she spread her legs, calves hanging over the edges of the tub, feeling a sense of dread at Mistress’ promise. _I’m going to scrub your slutty, fat little clit until your ass is all warm and slack for me, and desperate to be fucked…._

Mistress came over with a soft-looking pink sponge, and a wickedly-cheerful smile. ‘Ready to get nice and _clean_ , my Honey?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, before pressing the sponge to Honey, slowly increasing the pressure, the water squeezing out, the texture feeling like _sandpaper_ to Honey’s poor, bare, swollen, sensitive pussy. Mistress’ hand also pushed at Honey’s vaginal plug, which she knew would just torment Honey further. She hummed to herself, and slowly began to make a little circle with her hand, still applying pressure, in a little scrubbing motion.

Honey moaned.

‘I want you to squeeze your titties, Honey, rub them down and get them nice and wet while Mistress scrubs your pussy until it’s all pink, and shiny, and _clean_.’ She released the pressure of her hand, and started scrubbing lightly all over, in little circles. Honey was making all kinds of delicious noises, struggling to concentrate hard enough to squeeze and stroke her titties.

‘Hmm,’ Mistress said, after a full minute of torment, taking the sponge away and surveying the redness. ‘I think your clit is clean enough to be wrapped up in a nice, _tight_ bow for Mistress to look at, now. Keep rubbing your titties down, take your nipple plugs out for Mistress, too.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’ Honey was _dying_ of sensation. The sponge was the soft kind, but oh! Oh God, the torture of it was delicious. She was sure Mistress would never harm her, so she could enjoy the torment all the more, could enjoy the (very Victorian, she remembered reading language like this in the only erotica books he’d ever purchased, which was full of really old erotica) abuse of her pussy, and her clit. She felt Mistress wrap a thin something around the base of her clit, and pull it snug, then tight, so tight that Honey whined in her throat.

‘Gooood, does it hurt, my sugar?’

Honey waited a bit, before realising Mistress expected an answer, this time. ‘Y-yes, Mistress,’ she whispered, almost afraid to say so.

It cinched tighter, and Honey gave a broken little sob, her breath catching even more as her pussy tensed, making her clit hurt even more sharply. But it hurt so good. She felt little tugs, wondered if Mistress was tying a bow, before she felt Mistress pull tight again, and realised Mistress was wrapping her clit in the ribbon.

‘Good _girl_ , holding so still for me…’ Mistress’ voice was lower and huskier than Honey had ever heard it, and knowing she was making Mistress happy, knowing that torturing the clit that Mistress had ordered to be plumped and stretched and made the way it now was made Mistress so _turned on_ , made Honey blissful.

Mistress wrapped the pink silk ribbon around Honey’s clit, starting at the base and working her way up, until Honey’s clit stuck out quite a bit more, the head poking from the top of its ribbon-corset like a purple-ripe berry. She smiled wickedly to herself, tying the bow before pulling out a device that was attached to the plumbing around the tub, a multi-purpose tool that shot a smooth, firm jet of water for cleaning small places thoroughly.

It was perfect for sounding a urethra with the jet of water, which was exactly what Mistress was about to do. ‘Time to open up your little urethra, precious,’ was all the warning she gave, as she aimed the nozzle, and then turned it on, the cold water shooting straight up Honey’s flush-swollen urethra. She gasped loudly, and sobbed.

‘Mistreeess…’ plaintively, but Mistress only grinned.

‘Oh, I am enjoying torturing this pussy I made, Honey. Do you think your gaping, slutty little arse is ready for my toy, yet? Hmmm…’

She took the water jet away, watching the water flow out of Honey’s now-open urethra, and again thought of her Dearest Brother, who so loved to play with and control a pet’s bladder, and torture them in the same place. She slid a speculum into Honey’s arse next, bigger than any Honey had felt before, and cruelly spread it open much faster, too; but Honey could take it, Mistress could tell.

‘Aa _aah! Mistress!_ ’ Honey _loved_ this new side of Mistress, this cruel, cold caretaker. She felt like an old fashioned young lady in finishing school, being ‘taught discipline’ by a beautiful, cruel Governess….

‘Void your bladder, Honey,’ came Mistress’ voice, and Honey came back to sensibility slowly. Mistress had stopped spreading the speculum, stopped touching her pussy, and Honey took a few moments to process what she’d just been ordered to do, before tensing in horror (her clit sparked pain up her body, and she gasped, forcing herself to relax).

‘Void it,’ Mistress said again, firmer. ‘Don’t make me ask again, girl.’

It took Honey a few minutes, to get over the societal training that one must only release when sitting on a toilet; but Mistress didn’t give her quite long enough.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, you did your best, my sugar,’ she went on, in a gentler, reassuring sort of voice. Honey felt something slide into her urethra, in and in… ‘I see you have to be cathetered, my poor little girl. Don’t fret. We’ll keep practising, every bath time, until you can do it when I ask you.’

She was talking to Honey in a way that made Honey feel very young, very cared for, but very young. Or maybe just very simple, she realised. Mistress had been encouraging her to be simpler, dumber, maybe that was part of it? Was she being trained, now? Obviously, Honey thought, obviously she was being trained. She firmly stopped her worry this time, telling it she was a dumb bimbo slut, and if Mistress wanted to treat her like a _baby_ doll as well as a sex doll, Honey shouldn’t analyse or question it, because Dumb Honey didn’t question anything, because Dumb Honey didn’t _think_ , she didn’t _have_ to think, she just had to _want_ , and _feel_ , and _obey_.

Something was _expanding_ , inside her, and Honey’s thoughts were derailed by the new sensation, as she gasped, going very still.

‘Since you can’t void on command, I think we need to just stretch open that little entrance to your bladder ourselves…’ Mistress said, as she finished inflating the tiny balloon, released the clamp, and watched the flow begin draining out of Honey. ‘Goooood girl,’ Mistress said, knowing that this in particular was a difficult thing for a girl like Honey to enjoy, even though her body gave all signals of enjoyment. ‘Good girl, that’s it…’

The catheter was a design of Brother Dearest’s, he liking very much to train Lamb’s bladder to helplessness, Lamb playing at the mien of a very _small_ Lamb, who was not potty trained. Lambs, after all, were not able to potty train. They weren’t Kittens.

It was very soft silicone, and had an expanding, hollow tip that was hourglass-shaped, meant to spread the bladder’s entrance with the expansion, as well as make sure the catheter stayed put. With regular use, it could very effectively gape that entrance, as much as one could gape a pet’s other orifices. Mistress found herself, now that she was home, and surrounded by familiar things, wanting to let Honey be a little more in tune with Lamb. It crossed over well with Honey’s bimbo persona, and the more of her body Honey gave over to Mistress’ control, the more relaxed and thoughtless Honey’s mind could be.

The tube went the length of the urethra, but—and this made it differ from regular catheters—no more than that. It had a wide, rounded rim to keep from slipping in and chafing, but was nearly invisible, especially since it was pink. Mistress watched, and was satisfied that Honey was, now, entirely _unable_ to stop the flow coming from her bladder, unless Mistress plugged her up. And Mistress was, the longer she thought on it, not at all intending to plug her up. Lamb would so like having a playmate, Mistress thought, and there were extra baby-doll clothes in the house, of course. Mistress had once played with baby-dolls….

Honey felt when her bladder was forced open, felt the warm flow of liquid down her pussy, and her ass, heard it spurt a little with the movement of her abdomen as she gave a little embarrassed sob. She could feel her pulse in her clit, which was strangely cold.

‘My good baby _girl_ ,’ Mistress cooed. ‘Now, let’s get you covered in lube so Mistress can _fuck_ you.’

Mistress sounded so _chipper_ , and Honey found herself more and more wondering about Lamb, about what it was like to _be_ Lamb, to be a… a whatever Lamb was. A pretend-baby? No, that wasn’t quite it. It was more like… a baby _doll_ , like Honey was a bimbo doll. But were they really so different? she wondered, as she felt Mistress drizzling lube all over her, felt her rubbing it in with gloved fingers. It was soothing, after the torture, and Honey hummed at the relief, at the contrast, at the soothing feeling. The lube must be the special kind, with medicine or aloe or whatever in it….

She felt Mistress slip her hand inside, and Honey was _fascinated_ at the fact that it honestly felt like Mistress was easily sliding her _entire_ hand inside Honey’s ass. And it felt _so_ good, Honey hummed a little more like a moan, squeezing her titties and sliding her hands down to the tips, to toy with her nipples, work the plugs out with the caresses. She wished she didn’t have big fancy nails, she wanted to see if she could fit her fingertip inside her empty nipples….

‘All right, Honey, dearest,’ Mistress said, pulling Honey’s vaginal plug out as she shoved the biggest of her toys _in_. It was longer than a rectum, long enough to go _very_ deep, and wide enough to stretch even Honey’s well-slackened gape. Mistress was sure that, with Honey’s uterus being as full and tight as it was, the feeling was intense, indeed. Honey didn’t make a noise, but that was likely because she could hardly _breathe_. Mistress gave a wide and slightly sadistic grin, and started to pull out, shoving back in hard enough to make Honey’s titties jiggle. Honey squeaked.

‘Good girl, _take it_.’ She pulled out a little faster this time, pushed back in a little faster. There was plenty of lube, especially since Honey was still wet.

As Mistress worked up to a truly pounding tempo, Honey tried to breathe, overwhelmed, wanting so badly to come she began to cry, after a while, Mistress’ fucking pushing her whole body, her titties bouncing with every thrust into her ass. Honey gave herself over to it completely, her body relaxing utterly, hands falling from her titties and just resting on the top of them, feeling the deep, visceral pleasure spearing through her, sparkling from her ass outward to her legs, her belly, her titties, up her back to her neck, to her head. Just pounding, almost like the deepest massage… she didn’t know when she started to come, it felt like first she would never come, and then that she’d been coming forever, and ever, and wanted more and more, wanted it to never stop….

Mistress saw when Honey started to come, saw her clit begin to twitch in regular pulses, saw her gaping pussy begin to pulse, and kept going, sweat beading on her brow and shoulders, eyes intent on her work, watching the toy slide in and out of Honey, adding more and more lube, watching Honey’s ring, flushed and pink, shift in and out with the movement of the toy, the lube frothing with the vigor of the motions. Mistress could see the way the toy made Honey’s belly pulse up and down, it was so huge, and Honey’s belly was so _full_ already….

Oh, ye gods, the girl was _delicious_. Mistress came after one final thrust into her doll, and stayed there a moment, breathing hard, feeling her own cunt pulse harder than she’d felt in a long time.

‘Oh, my _girl,_ ’ Mistress said, and Honey had never heard her so…

So _wrecked_ _._


	7. Mamma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titles change, and so does the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to my fans! Kiss kiss!

Honey felt Mistress slowly, gently, pull the toy out of her ass, and then, Honey was alone. She didn’t mind; Mistress seemed like the kind of lady who needed to not be seen in dishabille, and Honey needed a minute, herself—to breathe, to process everything.

As she caught her breath, she looked up at the ceiling, which was painted and gilded all fancy, with clouds and angels looking down—except the angels were all girls that looked like Mistress had made Honey look, all full-bellied and full-titted and full-lipped—and, here and there, full-pussied. Like the rest of the art in the house, their ethnicities and sizes were all different. Slowly, Honey realised they were all frolicking around like angels normally did not do, having _sex_ with one another. Gosh. Who had painted this ceiling? Honey wondered if Brother Dearest was an artist, if the reason there were so many paintings in the house was because he’d made them….

Gorgeous _and_ skilful, Honey thought, before turning her attention to her body, which was buzzy with pleasure even still. Her urethra felt… sort of congested, but her bladder was oddly comfortable. Her clit still ached, cool and dull and throbbing, and every part of her was so relaxed. A good, hard fuck in the ass was better than any massage session, she thought giddily.

She heard Mistress’ boots on the floor again, and felt a soft tugging at her clit. ‘Poor Honey,’ Mistress said, in her more familiar smooth tones. ‘I can’t wait to hear you when this comes off, and the blood rushes back, and…’

Honey felt it as Mistress unwrapped the ribbon, little by little, and she whined and whimpered, toes curling as she tried not to fidget while Mistress had her by the clit. Finally, she realised the tugging had stopped, leaving her with the burning, throbbing heat of the blood rushing back to her poor clit. When she opened her eyes, it was to see Mistress, leaning on the rim of the tub, dangling the damp pink ribbon and smiling.

‘Ready to continue your bath, darling?’ she said, and chuckled at Honey’s squeak. ‘There’s a reason I told you to take out your plugs, baby girl. Get off the wedge and sit up.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Honey said, even though she still felt a bit floppy, she managed. Mistress took the handshower off the cradle, and switched it on, wetting Honey’s titties thoroughly, scrubbing them with the sponge (and soap, this time), holding each one up to scrub _thoroughly_ at the nipple, and Honey whimpering and crying ‘Mistreeeess!’ at the torment, feeling more empty than ever without anything plugging her up _anywhere_ , held open and slack and helpless and _empty_ ….

Mistress knew how her girl must be feeling, and savoured it, before taking a soft silicone bottle-brush, just the right size for Honey’s nipples, and dipping it in lube, pinching Honey’s areola and slowly inserting the brush. Honey started to scream, and then wail, and Mistress slowly scrubbed the inside of her nipple back and forth, twisting to and fro, until it was red, not pink, and gaping a bit more. She used a new brush (they came in a pair) to do the same to the other nipple, Honey’s voice echoing on the tiles.

Honey had never, ever, not in her whole life, imagined that _this_ was something you could do in real life. Mistress was fucking her nipples—well, cleaning them out—but technically that was penetration, and—oh god, it hurt _so good_ …. She’d never felt any pleasure from her breasts before Mistress made them into titties, never really even _wanted_ nipples, before Mistress had given her _titties_. She screamed, and cried, and treasured that she was now sensitive enough to _feel this_.

And then, Mistress started using that tiny jet of water again, and Honey couldn’t breathe. Her reward for going quiet, however, was Mistress being able to _talk_ to her again.

‘We just have to rinse you aaall out, dear girl,’ Mistress said, rinsing the lube away. ‘You’ve opened right up, you’ll fit your new plugs so nicely! They’re much bigger than your old ones.’

Oh, oh she was going to be filled up again, filled up _more_ , Honey thought, in a haze of pleasure. Full was good, she thought, her pussy tensing, feeling how empty she was, how swollen her clit was. Mistress was taking the water jet away, and her nipples felt cold and gaping and strange. Not for long, Mistress began working the new plugs in right away.

The new plugs were longer, and more bulbous, and would hold her nipples a little wider than they were already gaping. They were also pink, and vibrated. Mistress wasn’t about to let Honey know this, however, not until they were both in. ‘Isn’t that gorgeous, my sugar,’ she cooed, amused at how the old endearment seemed to have been left in this house, ready to be used again whenever she returned. ‘Look at you, we’ll have to put your titties back in the Machine when we get back, so your areolae don’t get swallowed up by these fat nipples I’m giving you.’

Honey sucked her lower lip into her mouth. ‘Yes, Mistress.’

Mistress turned on the vibrations, and Honey’s eyes flew open, looked so startled, so helpless, as she looked into Mistress’ eyes, and Mistress saw her realise the plugs were stuck there, were not going to be taken out any time soon.

‘Mmmmm, _that’s_ right, Honey. Now I can torment your poor little nipples when _ever_ I _want_.’ She traced her gloved hands over Honey’s titties, lowering the frequency of the vibrations until she could feel Honey’s titties vibrating all the way down to the roots. ‘Now,’ she said, straightening. ‘I have to get ready for supper, and so do you. Wash your hair and get your clothes on, there’s instructions and clothes through that door, in the dressing room. Don’t forget to use the bidet, we must be squeaky clean for supper.’ She leaned over and kissed Honey, warm and soft and slow.

‘My good girl,’ she murmured, looking into Honey’s eyes. ‘You’re doing so well for me, Honey. I’m so proud of you. How are you feeling?’

‘I _love_ this,’ Honey whispered.

‘What do you love about this?’ Mistress turned off the vibrations, so Honey could speak.

‘I love—I love how different you are, I love Lamb, and I keep trying to imagine what it’s like to _be_ hir, and oh gosh, when you were like, all mean and merciless, like a _Governess_ it was _so_ amazing I felt like some kind of—like—Victorian girl in a finishing school, and that was _so good_ and I want _more_ and I—I think I like pretending I’m small and I…’ her voice was getting smaller, her cheeks redder. ‘I almost didn’t want to call you Mistress, at times,’ she said, unable to meet Mistress’ eyes. Mistress waited.

‘What did you want to call me, Honey?’ she asked, very gently.

‘Mamma,’ Honey said, in the tiniest voice, unsure if that was—if that was _alright_. Mistress kissed her forehead.

‘We can play that game, if you like, Honey. You can be my baby doll and call me Mamma when we’re here, and be my sex doll and call me Mistress when we’re in the city. How’s that sound?’ Mistress _had_ felt herself slipping; it was just the surroundings being so… perfect for that sort of role-play.

‘I… I like being a little older, and your being Governess sometimes, too? Can we do that too, Mistress?’ Honey asked, knowing she was supposed to speak up about her desires.

Mistress gave a more crooked smile. ‘Oh _yes_ ,’ she said, wondering if meeting the ponies would make Honey want to also try being a pony. She was such a _perfect_ girl for Mistress, so versatile! So curious! ‘Especially since proper young ladies must be trained for their _marital duty_.’ She reached down and patted Honey’s tummy bulge, and Honey felt a shiver of anticipation. ‘But for now,’ she said, softening. ‘Call me Mamma, and be my baby-love.’

Honey blushed, opening her mouth, then closing it. Mistress gently lifted her chin.

‘Call me Mamma, Honey.’

‘Mamma,’ Honey said, very softly.

‘Again.’

‘Mamma,’ Honey said, managing to get something approaching normal volume.

‘One more time, and then Mamma has to go get pretty for Supper.’

‘Mamma,’ Honey said.

‘Good _girl_!’ Mistress cooed, kissing her forehead again, and leaving the bathroom. Honey used the handshower to wash her hair, and put in the special conditioner that protected it. She washed her face too, and everything else that Mistress—Mamma—hadn’t washed, and spend a long time at the bidet—first, to figure it out, and then… well, she indulged in _playing_ , a little.

She found pink towels waiting on a warmer nearby, as well as slippers. About halfway to the door Mistress had indicated, she felt something warm and wet on her leg, and looked down to see something like water dripping down the inside of her thigh. What was that? She went through the door, and found the clothes that were laid out were confections of ruffles and lace, ribbons and bows, all in pale pink and white.

She looked for silky panties, but found, instead, bloomers that were made of a rather thick material, very soft, with padding in the crotch, discreet and soft. There was a note pinned to them.

 

 

> _Bimbo dolls don’t need to worry about when to go. That’s far too much thinking. Let Mistress take care of it for you._
> 
> _Put these on. If it pleases me, I might plug you up later. For now, wear these, and we’ll see how you do._
> 
> _I know this is a new kink for you, I’m so pleased you are trying it. Thank you, you’ve been a good girl, and I have been so happy with our play._
> 
> _~Mistress_

Honey shivered at how ominous those first bits sounded. So, the thing in her urethra wasn’t some kind of piece of the catheter that was plugging her up while it stretched her bladder opening, it was still keeping her open. Her cheeks were red as roses from the embarrassment of that, but the way Mamma had phrased it was so hot, like, it was about Honey _not thinking_ , about Honey being Dumb and Simple and Brainless. She liked that. She liked that a lot.

She put the little bloomers on, surprised at how cute they were, and how quiet. She still felt horribly empty when she sat down, without the comfort of her plugs, and she sat, and thought about Small Honey, and how Small Honey might react to that, how she might think about it, and realised… those were her pacis, and they were gone now, and she started to try and cry a little about it, and it took a little more work, and some talking to herself in a small voice, but she started to cry, and gave over to the freedom of really working herself up about it, because well, Small Honey was small, and the lack of a comfort toy like a paci really _was_ the end of the world. She slowly got her body to remember how to really _cry_ , and started to wail, and Mamma came into the room in a hurry, but never running. She immediately sat down on the dressing bench and held Honey, petting her wet hair and shushing her gently, rocking her.

‘What’s wrong, baby girl?’ she cooed, ‘what is it, Honey? Can you tell Mamma what’s the matter?’

‘I’m _empty_ —I don’t—have my—my _pacis,’_ Honey sobbed, hiccupping. Now that she’d started, it was surprisingly hard to stop. ‘In—in my pussy—and—’

‘Ohhh,’ Mamma said, kissing her temple. ‘ _Those_ pacis. Well just hold your little ponies, my sugar, we’ll get those back in a minute. Can Mamma go and get them, Honey darling?’

Honey nodded, sniffling, and Mamma left her perfumed handkerchief in Honey’s hands, going out of the room. Honey heard her heels clicking across the bathroom, then the water running, and Honey took off the panties and lay down on the bench, her pussy facing the door to the room, legs straddling the bench, waiting, hearing the water turn off and the heels click back across the floor, the door opening.

‘Oh, what a good girl. Can you raise your legs for Mamma, Honey, so she can put your pacifiers back in?’

Honey did so, ‘Yes, Mamma,’ she murmured, still feeling like any minute she would call this off, but always pushing herself just one minute more, almost shivering with the giddiness of indulging so _wholly_ in these kinks, in how readily and supportively Mamma acted, no matter what—and Mamma herself, gosh, what amazing layers she had.

Now she was all dressed like a beautiful Victorian lady, with a corseted silhouette and a skirt that fit close in the front, but had an overskirt draped and gathered up the back all full over a bustle, in a lovely bold gold and green sort of plaid taffeta, that reminded Small Honey of ribbon candy. Honey was smitten with her all at once, more than before, because of the dress. ‘Oh, Mamma,’ she said, even as Mamma pushed her plug—her paci—inside her… bottom. ‘You’re so pretty.’

Mamma smiled at her, and finished with her paci. Honey waited for more, but it seemed that Mamma was going to maintain that Honey’s pussy be left empty, while she wasn’t working—empty of her plug as well as anything else. Mamma was helping her sit up. ‘Do you want Mamma to dress you, my sugar?’ she asked, and Honey shook her head.

‘I’m a big girl, I can do it,’ Honey said, on impulse. Mamma kissed her.

‘Good girl, baby doll. Come see Mamma so she can do your hair for supper, when you’re done. Don’t play with your makeup—that’s not for supper, understand?’

‘Yes Mamma,’ Honey said, and Mamma patted her titties, which was a comfortingly familiar gesture, before leaving. Her steps clicked like high heels on the tiles, which made obvious that she wasn’t wearing shoes that exactly went with the dress. But Honey didn’t mind—she loved the sound of high heels.

Honey put the little ruffly panties back on, playing with the pink bow, before investigating the other clothes. There were three very soft, very ruffly petticoats—the most ruffly one was very deep rose pink, made of the softest fabric she’d ever felt, and it was probably linen, and then there was a peachy pink one that was made of lots and lots of chiffon, and then a silk one that was just barely tinted pink.

She looked for a chemise, and a corset. She found a chemise of soft white silk, gathered and full enough to accommodate her huge titties, feeling so yummy against the skin; but when she looked through the outfit again, and again, she couldn’t find a corset. She sat there, in her chemise and panties, and wondered about that, before thinking well, Mamma can’t have forgotten it… she wondered how long Mamma was going to have her not wear a corset or a bra or anything, because her titties were very heavy, and her body wasn’t used to them yet… but Mamma would think of that, she would, Honey told herself, and put on the linen petticoat, then the chiffon, then the silk one, over her chemise.

Her titties were well-covered on the bottom, but the neckline of the chemise was so low, her areolae were showing, her fat, stretched, abused little nipples visible through the thin white fabric. Honey traced around the rims of her plugs for a while, over the soft silk, and it felt so good she started really exploring, squeezing her titties and feeling the bigger, but softer, plugs. They went deep, and the part that stuck out of her nipple was domed, making her nipples look very round, almost perfectly round, through her clothes.

She liked that the plugs were pink, and she hoped Mamma would turn them on a little bit, at Supper, so she’d have to sit there and try very hard not to squirm. Or maybe Lamb and Brother Dearest would know, and would tease her about it, so she _couldn’t_ distract herself….

She went to hold up the dress. It was _very_ ruffly, and Honey almost thought it wasn’t designed for someone with big titties, except it was designed to _fit_ them. It just… also emphasised them rather a lot, with all the shirring up the front, and the ruffles, and the bows at either corner of the flared, low, square neckline, that was so signature to the 1870s. Oh, her titties would be so _big_ -looking in this! She sucked on her lip for a little bit, then realised… Mamma _wanted_ her titties to look big. She. Honey, wanted her titties to look big. So it wasn’t a bad design choice at all, it was just that ‘bad’ was defined as ‘not making everyone look like a perfect hourglass with a perfect C cup—no more, no less’.

Mamma didn’t _want_ Honey’s titties to be a C cup, Honey thought, as she slipped the dress on over her head, finding it was already unbuttoned (and buttoned up the back with a long column of the really tiny kind of button, the kind that needed a buttonhook!), and put the princess sleeves on, liking that they were half-sleeves, those were always more comfortable and pretty-looking. The drippy lace at the cuffs helped too. She straightened it over her titties, finding she had to move first one titty, and then the other, through the waist of the skirt, up into the bodice. She experimented with pulling her titties around by her nipples, which was something she’d always liked to do, until they were settled properly—and sticking out, now, from arousal. She felt a little shy about pretending to be such a baby doll, with titties like this, and her long nails, but Mamma didn’t mind, she said to herself, and that was all that mattered. Mamma _liked_ her titties, Honey thought, cradling them in her hands, and smushing them together, and lifting them up, and letting go, letting them bounce back down, pulling nicely again.

‘Honey!’ called Mamma in a sing-song, her heels clicking across the bathroom floor, and Honey realised she hadn’t put on her socks and shoes yet, hurrying to pull them on. They were the little fold down with lace at the edge kind, that she remembered from being Small, and the shoes were little patent mary janes, in pink. She was just slipping them on when Mamma came in the dressing room.

‘There you are.’

‘I’m sorry, Mamma, I got distracted,’ Honey said, a little anxious.

‘Shh,’ Mamma said, sitting beside her, her dress rustling, a buttonhook in her gloved hands. ‘It’s all right, my sugar. I came to button you up, and see if you wanted help with those fiddly old buckles. I know they can be stiff on brand new shoes like those.’

Honey was glad for the help—it _was_ hard to buckle her shoes with her long nails, and they _were_ a bit stiff. ‘I—thank you, Mamma,’ she said softly, and let Mamma first buckle her dress up the back, then kneel down and help with her shoes. Honey finally got a chance to see Mamma’s titties—at least, see a little bit of them—because her dress was cut to show just the tops of them, and they were very big, so there was a lot, just enough to rest a head on. They looked so soft, Honey thought, so soft and yummy like two buns surrounded by ruffly frosting… gosh, maybe she really _was_ hungry….

Mamma finished, and stood, and smiled a little as she toyed with Honey’s hair. ‘Come along, baby girl, let Mamma put your hair up nice, we have just enough time to do that.’

‘Oh—thank you, Mamma,’ Honey said, getting to her feet and following. Her shoes were flat, but had a hard little heel, and clack-clack-clacked across the floor, after Mamma’s more elegant clicket-clicket-clicket. Honey’s dress was quiet, but Mamma’s dress rustled like good silk taffeta always did. Honey’s hair was still down and a little scraggly from her bath, and she wasn’t wearing makeup at all; Mamma’s hair was piled up high and her face was made up pretty, with coppery eyeshadow that glimmered with green that set off her very green eyes.

Mamma led Honey out of the bathroom, and over to her vanity table, which was white and had beautiful, intricate carvings on it, and looked very old and well-crafted, like it might have secret compartments. Honey sat down on the little pink stool, and her dress fluffed down, her bare legs touching the stool’s velvet cushion. She looked at herself in the mirror, at her tanned face, and her puffy pouty lips, and her bleached hair still damp, though Honey had wrung it out in the towel as best she could. Mistress took up a comb, and started to hum softly as she gently worked the tangles out, and started to braid in little extra locks of hair, and roll in little rats, and pin here, and pin there, until Honey’s hair was piled up high, too, like a princess. Honey’s eyes had gotten wider and wider as she saw it take shape.

‘Wow, Mamma, it’s so pretty…’ she said softly, when Mamma was done.

‘Just like you, my Honey. Now, come along, it’s suppertime.’

 


	8. Supper

They had dinner outside on a magnificent deck of white-painted wood, that overlooked a beautiful lawn to the side of the house, the side opposite the one Mamma’s room was in. Lamb didn’t stay at the table, but ate two or three bites and then would go run around in the grass and pick some flowers, or watch a bug, or watch the clouds. This seemed normal, Honey observed, because Brother Dearest wasn’t calling her back, only bargaining with her (‘three bites and then you can get up again, okay, doll?’). Honey felt too shy to actually talk to him, and he either sensed that or was just used to submissives not talking, because he and Mamma just conversed together. Mamma would pause and kiss Honey’s temple sometimes, or talk to her; Honey didn’t feel _ignored_ , she just felt like she didn’t have to talk, it wasn’t expected of her. She remembered what Mamma was always saying, doing, making it so Honey didn’t _have_ to talk, didn’t _have_ to think, if she didn’t want to.

She really didn’t want to, actually. She wanted to just sit and eat, and feel pretty, and get used to her new body, and also _enjoy_ her new body. She wanted to think more about Small Honey and how often she wanted to do Small Honey. She was already thinking fondly of those moments in the bath, when Mistress had seemed… harsh. That had been fun, she wanted to do more of that. Was that Wrong? She batted that thought away as she ate another forkful. Wrong meant harming people. Nobody was being harmed, and she wasn’t obliged to be some purist idea of what was Right anyway. Anyways, she thought vindictively. Hm. Small Honey didn’t talk or think like a Bimbo, hmmm. How did Small Honey talk? Honey was going back and forth on this new kink, maybe she should give it time.

Lamb came up to her, shyly. ‘Hi,’ xhe said, quietly.

‘Hi,’ Honey said, as Lamb sat on the empty chair next to her. ‘I’m really new at this.’

‘That’s okay,’ Lamb said, and was quiet for a little while. ‘Do you want me to teach you?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, okay,’ Honey said, and looked to her Mamma, tugging very gently on her sleeve. ‘Mamma, can I go play with Lamb, please?’

Mamma looked at the state of Honey’s plate, before kissing her temple again and saying simply, ‘Yes, my sugar. You can even sleep in Lamb’s room with hir if it pleases the both of you.’

‘Remember to wash your hands, Lambie pie,’ Brother Dearest said to Lamb, who nodded, hir curls bouncing everywhere.

‘Yes, Dama,’ xhe said, and then, ‘ _Can_ I have a sleepover with Honey in my room, Dama?’

‘Course you can, sweetheart.’

Lamb took Honey’s hand after Honey stood up, and pulled her into the house again, and up the stairs, and the _other_ way down the hallway, until they came to a door with a silhouette of Lamb on it, in the same round little frame, with a purple background, this time.

‘I like purple,’ Lamb said, and opened the door, revealing a bedroom that was frilly and, chiefly, lilac; the room was dominated by an ornate, huge, _round_ bed made to look like a castle, with a second story and steps up to it, and a slide. Painted across the walls behind it were a day and night mural across that had unicorns and willow trees and fairies that really lit up with sparkling light, and purple and white bats in the night sky, and birds in the day one. The stars were real pinpoints of light, and all over the room there were the kinds of toys Honey had dreamed of, as a child—huge plush animals, including a plush tiger that looked life-size (but probably wasn’t), and a hand-painted rocking-horse; but there were some grown-up toys too—a huge crafting centre with drawers and shelves and a big worktable, with a sewing machine that looked very fancy, indeed, and bolts of fabric, and a pair of lilac dressmaker’s dummies, one with something half-done on it. It seemed that Lamb was the one that made hir clothes.

‘Wow,’ Honey breathed, in awe. Lamb was beaming.

‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘It’s amazing. It’s… your Dama’s _rich_ , isn’t he?’ Honey said, barely remembering in time that Small Honey wouldn’t say ‘this looks _expensive_ ’.

Lamb didn’t answer for a long time; xhe knew what Honey was really saying, why she was so shy. Xhe had been with Dama for many years, by now, playing this game most of the time. But you couldn’t play it all the time, and sometimes there were things that needed to be said.

‘ _I’m_ rich,’ xhe said. ‘I bought all of this myself. Dama _made_ my bed, and he _made_ the mural. He _makes_ me presents.’

Honey could tell Lamb’s voice was different, that xhe wasn’t being Small, right now. Lamb squeezed her hand, comfortingly, seeming to know that Honey was new at all of this sort of thing.

‘ _Mistress_ is rich, though,’ Lamb said, with the air of a great secret. Honey nodded.

‘I’m… how do you be a Small?’ she asked. Lamb didn’t laugh, for which Honey was grateful. ‘Like… what do you do for um, with the… sex stuff?’

‘Dama likes to put me in the Machine, and fuck me in both pussies, while I’m wearing a frilly, _frilly, really really really frilly_ dress. Sometimes we pretend he’s a naughty old vampire and seasoning my blood so he can drink it all up; sometimes we pretend it’s candyland and I’m Princess Cupcake and he’s evil King Cinnamint, and he puts tingly awful lube on my clitty so I scream and cry.’ Xhe shrugged.

‘That sounds fun,’ Honey said, imagining it. ‘Candyland… like the game?’

Lamb giggled. ‘Well, I guess it _started_ there….’

They both giggled for some time.

‘So,’ Lamb said, ‘this is your first time being a Little?’

Ah, Little. So that’s what it was called. Honey nodded. ‘I’m… I’m Mistress’ dumb barbie doll, usually,’ she said, still a little shy of saying ‘bimbo’ to other people, as yet.

‘I love barbies!’ Lamb said, but there was a sparkle in hir eye. ‘I thought maybe you were a barbie doll,’ xhe said, in a more grown-up voice. ‘What made you want to try being Little, all of a sudden?’

‘Just curious, I guess,’ Honey said. ‘And… maybe the pretty dresses. And Mistress being… different.’ She bit her lip, nervous. ‘It isn’t working,’ she said. ‘I think too much, when I’m Little. I think it’s because I don’t think of Little Honey as talking like a ditzy valley girl.’

‘Well, you can always stop being a Little whenever you want, and just go back to being a barbie.’

‘Can I? I don’t…like, fail?’

‘Fail what? You tried something new, that’s a success. I see why you prefer being bimbofied,’ Lamb said, with a smile that was only slightly teasing. ‘Come on, just let me play with you like you’re a Malibu barbie. It’ll be more fun for _both_ of us.’

‘But I don’t have any clothes…’

‘Pssh, what’s the first thing anybody with a doll does with her?’ Lamb asked impatiently, going over to the sewing table and getting a buttonhook out of a drawer.

‘Undress her,’ Honey said, because it was true—every little girl _she’d_ ever known, including herself, had done more _un_ dressing of barbies than dressing them; a new barbie, especially.

‘I can’t wait to play with you,’ Lamb said, as xhe undid button after button after button… ‘Your boobies look so squishy-soft, and I bet Auntie made your pussy squishy-soft and _biiiig_ ….’

Honey took a breath, and Lamb tapped Honey’s back in warning. ‘Barbies,’ xhe stage-whispered, ‘don’t talk.’

Honey let the breath out in a relieved sigh, and Lamb chattered on, getting back into hir Little voice. ‘I’ve got a new barbie,’ xhe sang, and just sang it over and over, almost soothingly, as xhe undid the buttons, and finally, finally, the last one was being undone and xhe was slipping the dress off Honey’s shoulders, freeing her titties (not that they’d been awfully confined) and laying the dress down on the sofa nearby, and pulling off the petticoats, and Honey was blushing now, because Lamb was, of course, going to see the absorbent panties, and _know._

Lamb didn’t say anything, just took off Honey’s shoes, but left her stockings on. Xhe got up, going over to get some fluffy purple towels, which xhe laid on hir bed, humming to hirself.

‘Gonna play with my new _bar_ bieee…’

Honey was starting to feel shivers of anticipation, seeing Lamb walk back and forth from hir bed to a white toybox painted with pastel rainbows and dancing baby animals. In fact, Honey was sure that Lamb was doing this on purpose, to heighten the anticipation Honey was feeling. Every time Honey tensed up, she felt the plug in her ass, which only aroused her more, and the cotton of the panties was brushing at her clit, which brushed against _whatever_ panties she was wearing, now that Mistress had ordered it permanently enlarged (and the fact that she hadn’t done it herself, yet it had been her will, was… _something._ Something _amazing_ ).

.oOo.

‘A Mamma again, eh?’ Brother Dearest said, as he and Mistress had coffee together in the study, playing a round of pool.

‘Perhaps,’ Mistress said. ‘Honey seems to be trying it out; we shall see what she thinks.’

‘You’ve refined your methods some.’ He commented watching her line up her shot.

‘If you came down to the City to visit more, you would have noticed that,’ she returned primly, getting the two ball in with a double-rebound shot.

‘Ah, sis, don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘We gotta busy schedule, with the ponies, and kiddo’s touring. She’s getting more popular.’

‘Perhaps Honey will want a frilly dress, soon.’ Mistress said, non-committal.

‘You’re distracted.’

‘She is curious about cruelty,’ Mistress confessed.

‘Whatta doll! Perfect for ya!’ Brother Dearest leaned on the edge of the pool table, near her. ‘You’re worried about making a mistake,’ he guessed. ‘You can’t be perfect all the time, she knows that.’

‘She’s an _employee_ , this is _improper_. I _pay_ her, Brother Dearest. I should not have brought her here, into my life.’

‘Oh fuck off,’ Brother Dearest said. ‘She’s gorgeous and crazy about you, and you’re crazy about her. So what if you happen to make sure she’s taken care of, give her an allowance? You know what they call that, in my world?’

Mistress knew Brother Dearest meant the imaginary world they both lived in, that they had made for themselves, a world that was half Victorian, half jazz era, where high kink was normal and incorporated into daily life. It was a world they’d both made together, years ago. ‘What, my love?’

‘A _wife_ ,’ he said, grinning. ‘Now c’mon, you gonna take your shot, or what?’

 


	9. A Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stuck and so I killed someone. This is what happens when you're raised on murder mysteries.

Mistress was sleeping when the phone rang. She only answered it because the extraordinary nature of a house phone going off in the middle of the night was still alarming, still heralded terrible news.

‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Who’s this?’

‘My name is Goodwin,’ came the careful, quiet voice. ‘Archie Goodwin. I’m a private detective, and I am looking at somebody who said you knew her as Daisy. She says there’s been a murder at your club, and she hired me and my employer, Mr Wolfe, on your behalf.’

The Mistress was very, very awake, and sat up, clutching the phone tightly, visions of her many girls, her boys, dead, flashing before her eyes. She took a deep, silent breath, and got a grip on herself, putting her mask on again. ‘Yes,’ she said, once more sounding unflappably calm. ‘Yes, Daisy is my secretary. She has that authority, when I am away. What do you need from me, at this moment?’

There was a soft tapping, and the door opened. Mistress silently motioned Brother Dearest to come in, making note of the time as she did so—times were going to start being very important, and she was just glad she had a very ordered life.

‘If you could, very quietly, come back home, using a different car than you used to leave. Something not in your name.’

‘I can do that,’ Mistress said, trying to stay calm, trying not to demand who was murdered. ‘Might I ask who was murdered?’

‘A member of your night club.’

Oh, thank God! Not one of her girls! Mistress felt like she could breathe a little easier. Brother Dearest put his hands on her shoulders, as he sat beside her, and she was grateful. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘I was terribly concerned it was one of my staff. They are a… vulnerable population.’

‘I’m aware.’

‘I shall cooperate with you, Detective Goodwin, in any way you require.’

‘That’s refreshing.’

‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to get started on the drive back; if you want to see me as soon as possible, that is.’

‘I do,’ Goodwin sounded pleasantly surprised.

‘Good-bye, then. I shall be there in an hour.’ She hung up.

‘Murder?’ said Brother Dearest.

‘Not one of the girls,’ said Mistress. ‘Or anybody else,’ she added, getting up. ‘I have to go. Can you take care of Honey?’

Brother Dearest watched his sister for a while, getting dressed, doing her makeup quickly, taking off the satin scarf she slept in to protect her hair. She was no longer nervous. ‘That wasn’t the police, was it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Daisy called that number Mother gave us long ago.’

‘The orchid-collector?’

‘Yes. The one that gave her the _Paphiopedilum rothschildianum_ seedling because he liked her _Dracula vampira_.’

‘Oh,’ Brother Dearest said, smiling in his lopsided way. ‘Him.’

‘Yes, him.’

‘Why is an orchid-collector calling you late at night about a murder?’

‘It was his assistant, Brother Dearest; he’s a private detective.’

Brother Dearest loved private detectives, and lit up, despite the circumstances. ‘You sure you don’t need me to come?’

‘ _Don’t_ , Brother Mine,’ she said, warningly. ‘This is no little radio drama, this is reality. I need you to take care of Honey. I just put in one of your hollow urethral plugs, she needs to grow used to not having control of her bladder, and I want you to increase the size of her play pregnancy every morning and evening—you still have your machine?’

‘Of course, Sister Mine,’ he said, grinning a little more quietly than normal. ‘I’ll take care of little honeysuckle rose, don’t you fret. What else did you do that needs watching?’

‘She’s got an anal retention plug, and I just increased the size of her nipple plugs—here’s the remote. Get her used to it. And no vaginal play of any kind—none, not even from naughty little Lambs.’

‘Lamb’s more likely to try and suck on her tits.’

‘Mm… let it be play, for now. If Honey is desperate enough to be a milchcow when I get back, I’ll consider it.’ She took her purse, and kissed Brother Dearest’s cheek. ‘Thank you, I’ll let you know if anything changes, if they—God forbid—need Honey to come back down. Is Hemi awake?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Let him sleep; if they need him, I can call him. I need to borrow the most inconspicuous car you own.’

‘I don’t own any inconspicuous cars,’ Brother Dearest said, ‘but,’ he said, before she could protest, ‘the ponies do. And I own them. There’s a white sedan in the garage, I’ll get it while you pack, meet you downstairs in five.’

‘Five,’ she said, with a nod.

‘Hey,’ he said, pausing at the door. ‘It’ll be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, just remember that.’

.oOo.

Mistress wasn’t sure what to expect, as she drove down to the City again, pulled up to the handful of metered parking spaces in front of her club, noting Daisy’s little yellow car and another car she didn’t recognise, an electric sports car. And yet _she_ was supposed to be inconspicuous. Well, a white sedan of this make and model was _the_ most inconspicuous car there was. She got out, the click of her heels softened by the grit of the street as she walked up to the club door, and braced herself for anything, before she keyed in. The club’s lights were on, brightening the matte-black painted walls and reflecting rosy off the glossy floor. Her footsteps echoed, and Daisy came out of the office onto the mezzanine, looking through the bars of the railing.

‘Mistress!’

‘Stay, Daisy,’ Mistress said. ‘I shall come up to you.’ She mounted the spiral stair that was locked behind a wrought-iron door, closing and locking the door behind herself, and seeing Daisy’s worried face as she came up to the mezzanine.

‘He’s such an awful _flirt_ , Mistress,’ she said, half-embarrassed, half-flattered. ‘I didn’t know how to _tell_ him—I mean, I _tried_ to tell him, but, well, I—you know,’ she ended. Mistress patted her cheek, smiling.

‘I know, Daisy.’

Daisy was very shy, and Mistress gave her the ability to be shy, without needing to be else. Daisy didn’t mind she was shy, she was rather becoming allowed to be _proud_ of being shy, with her Mistress’ protection and nurturing.

Mistress went into her office, to find a rather handsome white man in a fine suit that was a bit brightly-hued, but very tastefully and flatteringly so, and very blue eyes that had a piercing way about them. Mistress held out her gloved hand, and introduced herself.

‘I am the Mistress here,’ she said, afterward, in what she hoped was an indicative tone.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ve _heard_ about this club, but never been inside. Very tight security you’ve got.’

‘I should hope so,’ Mistress said, still coolly. ‘Where is the body?’

‘Ah, right to the point. It was found in the bathroom by your janitorial staff—surprised you hire two—and they called Daisy, who called me. She says they usually call you, but you were at your brother’s this weekend.’

‘I was, yes,’ she said, ‘Hemi—one of the security staff—drove us there in a towncar. Don’t you usually take notes?’ she asked, because he had no notebook, and she did not trust that.

‘Eidetic memory.’

‘I see,’ she said, but her tone was closed. ‘And it is certain that it is murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘The body has not been touched?’

‘No.’

Mistress gave a faint hint of a smile, in the corner of her mouth. ‘Aren’t _you_ supposed to be asking _me_ questions?’

‘Ah, but you’re just catching up,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Now, what are you going to tell the police?’

She raised a brow, and sat down. ‘You’re the professional, Mr Goodwin; what is your advice on that matter?’

People were usually surprised by how proper and poised Mistress was—at how she didn’t even use a modern mobile phone for her business, at how she had, instead, a real life secretary to answer her calls, sent out real invitations—and her manners, her way of speech, most of all. People thought it was a façade, that it came off when she stopped working at her club, that, somehow, she was really a ‘normal’ person. Little they knew, she did nothing unless it gave her pleasure. Goodwin was no exception; but he was a detective, his business was people, and he was smart enough to realise she was just _like this_ , however odd it seemed.

‘You’re gonna have to call them, and they’ll get mud all over your floor, and…’ he took in a breath, let it out in a whoosh, ‘well,’ he said, ‘they’ll say things. Make jokes you’ve probably heard before. Imply things.’

‘Yes, I’m perfectly aware of how we are seen, Mr Goodwin. That is exactly why I hired you and Mr Wolfe. My staff are my first priority—their vulnerability is not to be exploited. I shall not allow it. I granted them my _protection_ , I have an obligation to them, Mr Goodwin, you understand. This is not a place where any kind of _rudeness_ shall be tolerated. Now, can I have you call the police on my behalf? I would prefer that.’

‘They’re gonna wanna talk to you, eventually.’

‘I find it best to make myself as unavailable as possible, in these situations,’ Mistress said. ‘I shall, of course, see you or Mr Wolfe whenever you please—I have hired you, and as far as I am concerned, you are the ones that shall handle this matter. That the police are involved is only tolerated insofar as I am obliged to tolerate it as a citizen of this country.’

He sat back and crossed one leg, revealing a brightly-coloured dress sock and a _very_ fine ankle. ‘You know, I can’t decide if he’s gonna love you or hate you,’ he remarked, then got up. ‘Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do—you’re gonna go back up to your brother’s house, and tomorrow morning, sharply at eleven, you’re gonna arrive at four-fifty-four west thirty-fifth street, and see Mr Wolfe. Do not talk about the murder to anybody you know in the meantime.’

She inclined her head just so. ‘Agreed.’ For she did not _obey_ anyone. ‘And you shall tell Mr Wolfe the _Paphiopedilum rothschildianum_ is doing quite splendidly, won’t you?’

She saw his eyes widen a bit, and respected him more for knowing what they were, and how important. She stood. ‘I shall go. My Honey needs tending to. Good night, and I shall see you in the morning, Mr Goodwin. Tell me, is my arriving at eleven a lunch invitation, or not?’

‘It might turn into one, but it’s unlikely.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Come, I will show you out.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ he said, with a tone of mocking Mistress was slightly familiar with—she spoke to everyone with the surety of utter confidence, and the poise that set many on edge; but she did not smile, nor take umbrage. She merely treated it as earnest, and led him down the spiral stair and to the alley door, the alley outside still sparkling clean, all trash-cans shining and lidded, not a speck of refuse outside of them. There were no raccoons or alley cats here, and very few roaches or shadows to be found. They parted ways and Mistress spent the drive back wondering on whether she was going to bring Honey with her.

By the time she was pulling into the drive, she decided it would be best to ask whether Honey would prefer to stay with Brother Dearest, or stay alone, in a hotel somewhere else, perhaps a beach city, so she could improve her tan. Mistress didn’t normally like natural tans, but there was something to be said for sunbathing. And Mistress had ways of making sure there were no lasting consequences—it was one of the things Honey had said she wanted, in her application process.

Honey was in Mistress’ room, when Mistress got in, and Honey’s bleached hair wrapped up in a protective cap, doubtless with a mask on beneath it because she’d been Lamb’s dolly and Lamb was, like Mistress, very intent on proper hair care. Honey was bundled up in the fluffy duvet; and it looked right, her nestled in all the ruffles and bows, her fattened lips making her pout even in slumber, her unnaturally-firm titties looking like toys.

Mistress took off her makeup, and her clothes, and lay down to catch a couple more hours of sleep, before morning, pulling Honey close and enjoying the way Honey relaxed under her touch, smiling a little in her sleep as Mistress kissed her forehead, scooting down so she could put her head on Mistress’ soft and natural chest, which was large but not quite as large as Honey’s. Honey sighed in contentment, under the duvet, and Mistress gave a breathy chuckle, finding her hand resting comfortably on the back of Honey’s neck.

No matter what happened, she thought as she drifted off, Honey would still be here. She had not lost any of her dear ones, and things would be fine. Mr Wolfe would find the murderer, and life would go on.

The smell of the roses was beautiful in the warm night breeze.


	10. The Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switching to Archie Goodwin's PoV, the case begins....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know anything about Wolfe or his boswell, read on...
> 
> Wolfe is one of the consulting/private detectives, of the breed that were so popular in 20th century fiction. He is eccentric, in keeping with the species, and his eccentricities are his orchids (he has an entire floor and the roof of his brownstone dedicated to them, and a permanent gardener on his staff), his opinionated love of food, his never leaving the house, and his schedule, which only allows for two windows of time to see clients (11am-1pm and 2pm-4pm). Like most private detectives of the genera, he has a penchant for calling all the suspects into his office and laying out the facts before pointing to the murderer in a dramatic fashion. 
> 
> Archie Goodwin is the witty legman to Wolfe's dour genius, and aside from being the chronicler, he is also secretary, accountant, client-wrangler, and woman-handler (Wolfe is terrified of women; it's implied this is because of some past experience, though it's never detailed). He is a PI in his own right, and a sharp one. While others (including Inspector Cramer, antagonistic frenemy of the duo) would and have called Archie an array of nasty things implying he's Wolfe's toady, Archie describes his job as being chiefly to needle Wolfe into working, though how true this is is up for debate, as Wolfe has worked without retainer or fee for a few cases, and not only when somebody dies in his office.

I got a call at three in the morning; this wasn’t such an unusual occurrence, with modern living making it so I could get a call when Wolfe was still sound asleep. I reached over to the side-table, saw the number was local, and answered.

‘Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.’

The voice on the other end was distinctive—distinctive of what, I didn’t know, but it was tickling my brain somewhere. She introduced herself as only ‘Daisy’ and told me she was calling on behalf of her employer, the owner of a very exclusive Nightclub that I’d heard the name of only from someone at the Flamingo, and only the once. Daisy said she had been instructed to phone me if the staff ever ran into the sort of trouble that needed a detective.

‘There’s a dead body on the main floor, Mr Goodwin. Should I call the police, or is there—is there something special I need to do to make your job easier, first?’

She was trying to stay composed, and she was doing pretty well. ‘Do you know who the dead body is?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, ‘It’s one of our customers, a Mr Alan Peck.’

I whistled, long and low. Alan Peck was a billionaire who owned the only all-electric car company in the country. He was also convinced that mermaids were real, and poured lots of his money into proving it; but I’ve always found that the richer a man is, the more hare-brained his hobbies.

I got the details from her, and went to look at the body after telling her to tell the two janitorial staff to stay. When I got there, it was to find that the familiar timbre of Daisy’s voice was because she was what is now called a Little Person. She was dressed in a sharp suit in that shade of pink that was currently in fashion, and I could hear her heels clicking across the floor from under her long skirt. The janitorial staff were sitting at the bar, wearing sharp white uniforms that included a vest in the club’s purple. They had nametags that said they were called Gleam and Sparkle. They looked it, not to be unkind—Gleam had pink hair, and Sparkle had a few colours in the limp mohawk, but I spotted purple and turquoise, among others.

‘Hi, kids.’

‘I’m twenty-seven,’ Gleam said, and Sparkle giggled like it was a joke. They gave their pronouns—both were ‘they’s—and I moved on—I can’t keep up with all the references nowadays, even though I try for my job’s sake. I asked them the usual questions—when they’d found it, how they’d found it, did they touch it, and so on. Apparently it had been in the handicapped stall, positioned so that the staff would have the entire bathroom clean before they noticed it.

‘I think that means the killer knows how we clean bathrooms,’ Sparkle added, when they’d finished recounting it.

‘Which is _creepy_ ,’ Gleam added.

‘Deffo creepy,’ Sparkle agreed.

‘It’s certainly going to make things a lot harder for the kids in the lab,’ I said, having swapped gender words out a few years back; it was nice to be able to finally put it to good use. ‘Thanks for the help, you’ll probably have to repeat that to the homicide detective, when he gets here.’

‘Ugh, I hate cops,’ Gleam said, folding their arms and hunching nervously. Sparkle rubbed their back.

‘Me too; but look on the bright side, we have Mr Goodwin helping us out, and Mistress would never let us get harmed. We didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Cops _always_ think you’ve done something wrong if you’re not white, cis, male, straight, and Christian…’ Gleam muttered, and I remembered it, but didn’t comment on the veracity—it wasn’t wrong; but as a white, cis, straight male who is marginally Christian, I knew better than to say boo about it.

‘I think it’s time I spoke to this Mistress of yours; there a private spot I can make a phone call?’

‘My office,’ Daisy said, and turned to the janitors. ‘Thank you, please stay, and don’t tell anybody anything, for right now.’

‘What happens here, stays here,’ Gleam said stoutly, nodding. Sparkle was already on their phone, and looked up and at Daisy, which I note here because it’s rare, nowadays.

‘I’m only playing emojiblitz, scout’s honour,’ they said, holding up a hand with three fingers skyward.

Daisy led me across the shining black tile of the main floor, to a little caged elevator similar to the one Wolfe has in the brownstone; we got inside and went up, the elevator opening into a mezzanine that ran along one side of the club, and led into a closed-off second floor, which was carpeted enough to muffle footsteps. The hallway was dimly-lit, and had a number of large photographs on mounted canvas of black and white city scenes that made me a little nostalgic. Both sides of the hallway had doors, which were staggered so that nobody would face a door when coming out of one, but would instead see one of these canvases. The hallway was painted black, and the doors were red. Since the ceiling and the carpet were also black, it was a little strange. When I asked, Daisy gave a little nervous flutter of a laugh.

‘This is backstage, Mr Goodwin,’ she said, as we came to the end of the hall, where there was a door with a knob far too low for anybody but Daisy. She keyed in, and the rest of the office was the same height, apart from the ceiling and the single visitor’s chair in front of her desk, which was low to the ground in that fashionable way chairs designed by Poul Jensen always were. I whistled.

‘This is a real McCoy, isn’t it?’ I asked, as I carefully sat down.

‘Yes, sir!’ she said proudly, shutting the door behind us and locking it. She had a nice office, very comfortable, furnished to match the antique I was sitting in. There was a teak shelf of books that had a vase of daisies on top of it, and a large mural on the wall opposite, that was meant to distract from the fact that the room had no windows, and did so by being a photograph of a road leading away, lined with a field of daisies on one side, and trees on the other. It looked like an English countryside, it had that sort of colour to the grass. The other walls were a quiet grey, and Daisy got a book from the shelf and settled in her own made-to-fit chair, beginning to read.

I took out my phone and called the owner herself. I wanted to talk to her in person, see how she took it, and why she had left her secretary with instructions to call Mr Wolfe. It rang precisely one and a half times before it was picked up, and a low voice with a very nice English accent answered. She didn’t even sound like I’d interrupted her shut-eye. She asked me who was calling without even letting me get in a ‘hello’—a very old-fashioned woman. I identified myself and passed along that Daisy had phoned me, and about the body. She paused for a moment after I told her who it was, and then sounded relieved—just a scoche. But that didn’t say anything about whether she’d done it; sex workers were more often victims of murder than clients, and I could understand her relief at finding out this was not one of those times.

She wasn’t in the city, she said, she was visiting her brother. Did I need her to come down right away, or could it wait?

‘How should we proceed with handling this, Mr Goodwin?’ she asked, but not as though she thought a detective was a garbage man; no, this was a dame who treated everybody like they were some wonderful expert on whatever they did. The utter faith—and expectation—that made a guy wanna jump, and jump high. Wolfe would have called her very dangerous, and he would be right in doing so.

‘I think it would give the right impression if I made the call to the Homicide Department,’ I said. ‘Do not tell anyone where you are about the murder. The less people know, the less people the police have to call material witnesses.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I would like to have as little as possible to do with the police, until I can speak to Mr Wolfe tomorrow. Can you arrange that for me?’

I told her I’d do what I could, but that it was a good idea if she came here in a different car, talked to me in person, then went back to her brother’s until her appointment with Wolfe in the morning. Under no circumstances could anybody have seen her—that was the first lie I was going to ask them to tell. She asked me to hand the phone to Daisy, which I did. Daisy sat up straighter, and also relaxed.

‘Yes, Mistress?’ She paused, and said, ‘Yes, Mistress, I will.’ Then a blush, and a smile. ‘Thank you, Mistress.’ She handed the phone back to me, and took out her own, sending a few messages.

‘I have told her she must deny having seen me, when I come. She is summoning Gleam and Sparkle, I would like you to let me tell them your instructions, please.’

I wasn’t going to deny her, and when Daisy opened the door, I saw the same conversation play out twice more. When I thanked her and got off the phone, I said to them, ‘Well, she’s a hell of a boss.’

‘Yes,’ said Gleam proudly, ‘she is.’

‘Is she coming?’ Sparkle asked. ‘She said we had to lie about having seen her.’

‘Yes, she is,’ Daisy said. ‘Mr Goodwin told her to come here so he could say he had consulted her before the police get here. She will be here in forty minutes, we should all watch something cheerful until then.’

‘Seconded,’ Gleam said. ‘Do you like cartoons, Mr Goodwin?’

‘As it happens,’ I said, ‘I do like a little Bugs Bunny now and again.’

Gleam grinned. ‘Excellent.’

We commenced to watching whatever Gleam had stored in their phone, which was a surprising amount of classic stuff I’d grown up seeing on the big screen. I appreciated that these three were balanced enough people to take trauma in stride, and know how to respond to it—distraction was something I made a habit of long before the science types proved it helped traumatic memories from grabbing you and not letting go.

.oOo.

When Honey woke up, it was because Mistress had gotten up, and Honey blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes. By then, Mistress was standing, and in a long black peignoir trimmed with marabou, sitting at her vanity.

‘Mistress?’ Honey said, muzzily.

‘Go back to sleep, Honey,’ Mistress ordered, perhaps a little less gentle than usual. Honey lay back down.

‘ ‘s Mistress,’ she said. After a while, she felt Mistress come and tuck her in, touching her cheek with a warm hand.

‘My good girl,’ Mistress said, and shut the door silently on her way out. Knowing Honey was prone to worrying, Mistress had left a note on the side-table, explaining that there had been an emergency that needed Mistress’ attention. She had not mentioned murder, as per Mr Goodwin’s instructions; but she had told Honey that Mistress was safe, and the other staff of the club were also safe, and Honey was going to be taken care of by Brother Dearest for a while.

.oOo.

After a very successful first meeting with a woman that I would have been happy to call ‘Mistress’, I called Cramer directly, and told him there was a body, and that Mr Wolfe had been engaged to find who killed it. By this time, Cramer and I were almost friendly with one another, and so he only said ‘damn it’ and then asked for the address, whistling when I gave it to him.

‘This is gonna be a nightmare. I hate to say it, Goodwin, but I’m glad Wolfe’s on _this_ case.’

I told him Wolfe would be glad to hear that, and he told me where to stick it, and I hung up feeling cheerful about the whole situation, before telling the three staff that the police would be here soon.

(The police did get there, and it was the usual circus; they took statements from all three, who did very well with a little support from me, and I gave a statement to my usual degree of detail, making sure to press the right buttons to make them release Daisy, Gleam, and Sparkle before somebody snapped and started crying, or worse. It was boring and yet tense, like police coming to look at a body always is, and I really wonder how there are so many new recruits for Homicide when the job gets more tedious by the year.)

.oOo.

She Who Must Be Obeyed rang the bell very promptly at eleven sharp, and I answered the door, smiling at her—a smile which she did not return, nor did I expect her to; only one of us was being paid to smile. She was again dressed in the kind of suit that said very clearly that she enjoyed playing the game with two gender roles, and moreover was very good at it. I couldn’t agree more.

I showed her into the office, and Wolfe was already sitting in a chair behind his desk. I introduced her, and she spoke evenly to Mr Wolfe; I couldn’t tell if she was being herself, or turning on that persona that made all her staff refer to her by nothing other than a title.

‘I prefer “Mistress” to “miz”, thank you,’ she said to me, and sat down in the red chair in front of the desk, crossing her very nice legs, and leaning back as though it were a throne. I had the feeling she sat in every chair as though it were a throne.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘what is it you advise we do about the situation, Mr Wolfe?’

‘You have no interest in the identity of this person, I see.’

‘Should I care, Mr Wolfe?’ she riposted.

‘It was a client of yours, a Mr Peck.’

‘I see,’ she said, and it was like watching two tigers play tennis.

‘Did you kill him?’

‘Vile and violent as he was, I am not in the business of doling out _that_ sort of death, Mr Wolfe,’ she replied.

‘And what sort of death do you dole out, madam?’

She raised a brow very slightly. ‘In French, orgasm is euphemistically referred to as _le petit mort_. _That_ sort of death is my business. Forgive me, I thought you knew the language.’

‘It is not unfamiliar to me, but I needed to know. You are from the west coast of Africa, educated in England, from your accent—or it is a very good imitation.’

‘I learned to speak English from English people,’ she acknowledged. ‘What does my immigrant status have to do with this investigation?’

‘No more than mine does, madam, but your background will surely be probed by the police, and they do not appreciate wordplay.’

‘Or immigrants,’ she added. ‘Or women of colour. I’m aware. That is why I hired you.’ She waited a breath, and then said. ‘I will not ask again, Mr Wolfe; I will be called “Mistress” and nothing else, thank you.’

‘Pfui. I am neither client nor employee. I call you “madam” because that is what I call all female persons who come to my office to speak with me. Your profession is immaterial.’

‘He wouldn’t call you a madam, anyway, he’d call you a procuress,’ I interjected, unable to help myself. The tension was getting so thick, I felt like any minute I’d have loosen my tie. ‘ _I_ wouldn’t call you either one. You’re a Dominatrix.’

A muscle in her neck jumped, the barest hint that she wanted to wince. She didn’t like the term—but I had a feeling it wasn’t because she was in denial about being a sex worker. I’d seen Wolfe wince like that, when I used a word wrong. It was a very specific wince.

‘It would behoove you, Madam, to be forthright about what goes on in your establishment, and what services Mr Peck paid for with his membership fee,’ Wolfe said.

‘I will do that,’ she said, ‘and I will allow you to call me Madam if you continue to do so in that tone.’

I actually saw Wolfe make the slightest bow of his head, at that, just a slight incline that meant he agreed.

She proceeded to detail out how membership worked, and how it wasn’t money that made it exclusive, but her own extensive application process. She had two separate classes of clientele, both male: there were The Boys, who did have to pay membership fees. Before the fee, they all passed through a very _thorough_ application process, had certain tastes and a certain personal standard of grooming, and pass her interview; the other group were The Men, and she had a particular tone in her voice when she said that.

‘The Men are given a schedule of events, and they pay per event. They are never granted membership, nor admittance into events which are not on their schedule.’

‘But you need their money,’ Wolfe said.

‘I suppose I am not the only person who needs money from evil men in order to redistribute their wealth to others. I may even suppose you take money from people you find reprehensible, sometimes.’

‘How can you be sure they are all evil?’

‘It is impossible to be a billionaire without being evil, Mr Wolfe. Categorically. Do you deny this fact?’

He actually thought on it a bit; maybe because of her tone, which was not at all impatient. She spoke like she had all the time in the world. He didn’t comment, however, just asked who had keys to the club.

As it turned out, the club didn’t have keys—it had automatic locks that were very expensive, and were on a mechanical timer. The only person who could access this timer, or even knew _where_ to access it, was Herself, or Daisy. The nurse she employed and her personal bodyguard knew where the controls were, but had only ever borrowed Herself’s key, and brought it back. There were no copies of the key, and she had never lost it, or mislaid it for any length of time. She kept it around her neck at all times, even while sleeping.

The nurse, whom Herself just called ‘my Nurse’, was someone she had known many years, and who had been a friend from university. She was enough years older to feel maternal or materteral to Herself, and did not seem to have a name, either.

The personal bodyguard did have a name: Hemi. He was a former convict, as many guards were, and Herself made very clear that the charge was trumped-up on account of his skin colour, which I did not doubt in the least. It had been officially recorded as prostitution or intent thereof, but the only evidence was possession of more than two prophylactics, which was technically evidence, but was also complete B.S.

Most of her girls were not former sex workers, they were plucked from random places, interviewed in person by Herself, and had to submit a very long application that went into great and invasive detail, and required to agree to certain ‘non-surgical invasive cosmetic procedures’. This was where it got sticky.

‘What sort of procedures?’

‘Botox, suction, infusion of saline, and obeying certain appearance standards—which I provide the tools for.’

‘That is damnably vague.’

She didn’t answer, but didn’t rile, either. ‘You suspect one of my girls.’

‘It is possible. You must be willing to accept one of your own employees did this. Given your security measures, that is the only avenue worth pursuing.’

‘I am unhappy about that; but you are correct, that is the most likely. My newest girls are Honey, Sugar, Cupcake, and Strawberry. My newest member of security is Diesel. I suppose we should begin with the newest, and work backwards from there. I expect Mr Goodwin has already questioned the janitors who found the body.’

‘I have,’ I said. I could tell Wolfe was not looking forward to questioning women who went by names like Sugar and Cupcake. He had never liked people named after food, he said it spoiled his appetite. I, on the other hand, was looking forward to seeing what this club had to offer. Escorts were not something I ever had the money or inclination for, but women who were in the business of such things were usually like interacting with art, and I didn’t get to do that much with art I happened to enjoy.

‘Can they be brought here by four this afternoon?’ Wolfe asked.

She thought about it for a few moments; I figured anyone working for her would jump at the sound of her voice, but what do I know? Maybe she was contemplating whether she wanted to pull that on a weekend—it was a Tuesday, but for any kind of performer, Monday and Tuesday are usually the weekend. Daisy had been calling it that, as had the janitorial staff. There was, they said repeatedly, nobody there ‘on weekends’ apart from the janitorial staff, and they didn’t even get in past five in the evening on Monday. Tuesday was strictly outside janitorial—and Herself kept a clean outside, which was a feat in the city, now that the regulation about garbage cans had been done away with. Her club still kept them in use, and everything was spic and span, not even a puddle in sight.

‘I will bring them,’ she said to Wolfe, with a little nod. ‘At four precisely.’

Wolfe questioned her for a while longer, asking about her whereabouts, and advising her to get a lawyer if she had not called one already. She had not, having been waiting for our advice on the matter. She did not at any time refer to them as instructions.

‘If there is a lawyer accustomed to working with you and Mr Goodwin, I shall take their name and number. I have no regular lawyer for such matters as violent crime.’

We gave her Parker’s number, and she stood, promising to return with aforementioned girls at four pm. She then turned to me, and gave me a slight smile.

‘I should like you to have luncheon with me, Mr Goodwin.’

Now, I do not normally give up Fritz’s cooking; but it was shad roe season, and I was sick of the stuff, so I leapt. We got into a towncar that looked black until the light hit it in a certain way and you realised it was violet-red. There were flowers like that, and considering the name of her club (which was something else that Wolfe did not enjoy), I knew she knew about them. A man fitting Hemi’s description got out, and opened the door for both of us.

‘Hemi, this is Mr Goodwin,’ she said, as we slid smoothly into traffic.

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Goodwin,’ he said, in a low, soft-edged voice.

I almost expected her to have us talk right there and then, but she didn’t; she had, however, given me Hemi’s name, and it wasn’t by accident. She wasn’t a “by accident” type of woman; I realised she’d separated me from Wolfe on purpose too, and wanted to swear, but didn’t. Not out loud, anyway. I looked over at her, and she smiled, leaning back in the seat and proving my theory about thrones.

‘You’re as old as he is.’

‘Older,’ she said, smiling. ‘I am the oldest one in this city, Mr Goodwin.’

She meant, of course, those of us who didn’t seem to age, past a certain point which was different for all of us. We were scattered around, and everyone just went on with their lives around us. After all, they had to—even science didn’t really know what caused a few people to go on when others didn’t. But you know that, because you’re reading this.

It also meant she was very, very dangerous, and didn’t do anything without meaning to, because that was just how you got after a few centuries (people who lived more than two were officially unheard of, but we had a dinner guest once that had some fascinating stories about Michaelangelo that seemed far too weird to not be true). The problem with immortals past a certain age is that records don’t go back that far, as this great country of ours is only a couple centuries old.

‘You are grappling with what that means, truly,’ she said, and she was right. ‘But you do not go back far enough.’

‘Why are you bothering to be specific,’ I asked, because I was starting to get nervous, and when I was nervous, I snapped.

‘Because someone has done this to me, Mr Goodwin. Someone has come into my house and killed someone who gave me money to give him illusions of power. That will scare off the other men that give me money; and I like money. I need quite a lot of it, in order to live as I have become accustomed.’

I’d heard that before. I wonder if she knew that, too. ‘You’re sore because you think either another immortal is playing chess with you, and you don’t want to play; _or_ because it’s worse, it’s one of the little people, the ones who live only eighty years and kick it.’ I relaxed a bit—she was a regular client, no more and no less. And I had a good century on me, by now. I kept forgetting that part.

‘I need this problem solved, and I need to deal with whomever is responsible publicly and with enough drama and spectacle to make clear my club is again safe and will never be so violated again.’

‘Why not just pull up stakes, start over in somewhere it’s legal to have prostution?’

She gave me a cool look. ‘I would rather both parties be punishable, than to put any of my girls in peril. In America, I can pay for any legality involving prostitution to go away; America is very nice, like that.’

‘I wish you weren’t right,’ I said, but couldn’t argue. ‘We do worship the mighty dollar.’

‘Worship is a very good word, Mr Goodwin.’ She gifted me with a faint smile, and a soft undertone of approval. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want more of it, and felt part of me insist that I’d do anything to get it.

She was a _very_ dangerous woman.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- It is a quirk of the (somewhat sexist) Wolfe that all women he meets are either judged 'very stupid' or 'very dangerous', and Archie knows this, hence the repetition of the theme.
> 
> \- _I'm twenty-seven_ is from a vine.
> 
> \- **The Unfamiliar Word:** scoche. Usually, a Nero Wolfe mystery has at least one obscure word. Scoche (skohsh) means 'a little bit'. It's also spelled 'skoch', but I've always spelled it 'scoche'.
> 
> \- **The first lie:** Archie often talks about lying, and his philosophy on how to lie well and judiciously. Generally, keep the lie as simple and small as possible, such as saying 'no' when the answer is truly 'yes'.
> 
> \- [This is the chair Archie is referring to.](https://a.1stdibscdn.com/archivesE/upload/f_13842/1503524353929/Pair_of_Poul_Jensen_for_Selig_Z_Chairs2_master.jpg)
> 
> \- _...but the only evidence was possession of more than two prophylactics..._ This is a true law in NYC--possessing 3 or more condoms can be taken as 'intent to prostitute' and it's hella BS.
> 
> \- _which was a feat in the city, now that the regulation about garbage cans had been done away with._ \- There used to be a public health code that required all trash to be in cans in NYC; that was since done away with some time ago, and has resulted in some truly appalling levels of pests, and I can't imagine what it means for diseases and public safety. 
> 
> \- _I like money. I need quite a lot of it, in order to live as I have become accustomed._ \- Wolfe has said this before, himself. I'm purposely going to be drawing a lot of parallels between Mistress and Wolfe, as they are very similar--I hope the irony of this is clear.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me more, I have a discord channel for my fans [here](https://discord.gg/uVJR3ad)! Come say hi!


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